sweetbriarpoet
Flower Fortune- Sweetbriar: Poetry and fragrance.
Fourteenth Entry- A Rant
The tangles in my hair pull through with a shark tooth comb.
Black and sulfurous, the ocean calls me back into a mermaid
laden pool with long, glittering fish. Whales at the bottom
pull through the current.
I am not as intelligent as I like to think I am. I look at the world in the way I want to view it, I understand things from my perspective. Which doesn't make it truer to anyone else, but truer to me. This also doesn't mean I don't have an open mind: I generally take opinions very well and sometimes incorporate them into my own. But I draw the line at society and society's view as a whole. I find that the masses take certain truths and bend them until they become fact, then fad. And fads quickly become obsessions, and our obsessions become problems. I worry about my children sometimes: our fads will be their problems.
A couple of examples. I have a mate who's about average size, a beautiful face, a wonderful personality, and a sexuality that exudes from her. She picks up men easily, finds they don't suit her, finds another even more quickly. A day or so ago she came to help me with the bits, and she basically confessed to me that every man she has ever been with has demanded she lose weight. She also confessed that everyone woman she's met has inclined that she is too sexual to be taken seriously. Both these common occurences come about from society and society's skewed view on how the world should be. Forever, men have been sexual, flaunting both homosexual and heterosexual tendancies (Ancient Rome, for example), and have been seen in society as being quite able to function and be taken seriously (except Catulla, of course.) Why then are women not able to be sexual, fun, flirtatious, perhaps a little promiscuous witrhout being deemed tarts? There is love involved with sex, there is anamilism-there is not just the numbed act of doing it to see your knickers fall off. On the issue of weight, I have already expressed my views. I never want my children thinking that weight affects them in any way: it is not a proven fact that how big you are affects your health (a common misconception), it has only been shown that inactivity causes poor health (now, unfortunately, boobs and skin are being considered unhealthy.) It is also true that 85% of your body type comes from genetics (trust me, my husband's a doctor, darlings.) I was sorry to hear that these two things made her uncomfortable about herself. I am not the smallest woman in the world (for God's sake, I've had six children in the past five years!), but I have never wanted to be small. My husband is quite a catch, and so are the other men who were involved in my life. They didn't see a problem with my breasts. I swear if my girls get too skinny, I'm blaming society.
But even though my friend finds these two things wrong about her, she doesn't understand that being something is better than being average. Which, I believe, is what drove me to falling in love for the second time. I began to see myelf as average; as an average student, an average mother, living in an average house, with average dreams. When I met "Edward" and he saw that I was something more than average, I needed that solidarity. Suppose, for example, I was never to travel again. (A very possible reality.) "Edward" would be able to invite me to Paris with him, or to Scotland, perhaps. And there I would be. Free for a week or two, free to do something above average and which would make me stand out. I would lean on his arm, loving him and loving the opportunity he offered me to recreate myself.
My rant is done, and end it all
you've been patient, oh my darling,
so patient with the brothers and falling glimpes of
severed lightening.
Black and sulfurous, the ocean calls me back into a mermaid
laden pool with long, glittering fish. Whales at the bottom
pull through the current.
I am not as intelligent as I like to think I am. I look at the world in the way I want to view it, I understand things from my perspective. Which doesn't make it truer to anyone else, but truer to me. This also doesn't mean I don't have an open mind: I generally take opinions very well and sometimes incorporate them into my own. But I draw the line at society and society's view as a whole. I find that the masses take certain truths and bend them until they become fact, then fad. And fads quickly become obsessions, and our obsessions become problems. I worry about my children sometimes: our fads will be their problems.
A couple of examples. I have a mate who's about average size, a beautiful face, a wonderful personality, and a sexuality that exudes from her. She picks up men easily, finds they don't suit her, finds another even more quickly. A day or so ago she came to help me with the bits, and she basically confessed to me that every man she has ever been with has demanded she lose weight. She also confessed that everyone woman she's met has inclined that she is too sexual to be taken seriously. Both these common occurences come about from society and society's skewed view on how the world should be. Forever, men have been sexual, flaunting both homosexual and heterosexual tendancies (Ancient Rome, for example), and have been seen in society as being quite able to function and be taken seriously (except Catulla, of course.) Why then are women not able to be sexual, fun, flirtatious, perhaps a little promiscuous witrhout being deemed tarts? There is love involved with sex, there is anamilism-there is not just the numbed act of doing it to see your knickers fall off. On the issue of weight, I have already expressed my views. I never want my children thinking that weight affects them in any way: it is not a proven fact that how big you are affects your health (a common misconception), it has only been shown that inactivity causes poor health (now, unfortunately, boobs and skin are being considered unhealthy.) It is also true that 85% of your body type comes from genetics (trust me, my husband's a doctor, darlings.) I was sorry to hear that these two things made her uncomfortable about herself. I am not the smallest woman in the world (for God's sake, I've had six children in the past five years!), but I have never wanted to be small. My husband is quite a catch, and so are the other men who were involved in my life. They didn't see a problem with my breasts. I swear if my girls get too skinny, I'm blaming society.
But even though my friend finds these two things wrong about her, she doesn't understand that being something is better than being average. Which, I believe, is what drove me to falling in love for the second time. I began to see myelf as average; as an average student, an average mother, living in an average house, with average dreams. When I met "Edward" and he saw that I was something more than average, I needed that solidarity. Suppose, for example, I was never to travel again. (A very possible reality.) "Edward" would be able to invite me to Paris with him, or to Scotland, perhaps. And there I would be. Free for a week or two, free to do something above average and which would make me stand out. I would lean on his arm, loving him and loving the opportunity he offered me to recreate myself.
My rant is done, and end it all
you've been patient, oh my darling,
so patient with the brothers and falling glimpes of
severed lightening.
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