Monday, January 31

They want to teach you how to march (I want you to dance on my grave)

This is what they want from me

1. To have a father, a real one. Not a man to whom I refer as father figure and whos bed I sometimes sleep in.
Frank is a tall, beautiful creature who I have known of for a long time, but never really known. But that's never been an obsticle, Ive still been hopelessly and inconveniently in love with him. So has my mother always been. This is the only place where our minds crosses paths. This is only thing that ties us together. He is my father just as she is my mother. But they are not my parents, nor my family.

2. To stop drinking. Alcohol makes young girls age in a tragical way, it dries our skin out and makes us less like those Lolitas they secretly wish for. News flash, dearest men - I am two years to old to be a nymphet. Two years, and one houndred thousand thoughts to old. They want me stop drinking, and do more drugs. Cocaine chic is beautiful, its Vouge. They want me to be like all those pretty anorexics who passes out back stage. I want to pass out on the street, in the middle of Liberty while shopping for Manolos or at Chinawhite while trying to avoid all married men who I sometimes fall in to. On top of.

3. To love.

4. To have friends, call them and cry in the middle of the night when sleeping is out of the question and drinking has become boring. They want me to spend my emotions on friends, but I like the way my emotions create puddles in the pages of my mothers old books. The ink mixes with my inner self. I am one with what ever I read. No one can take that away from me.

This is what I want from you, tell me what people expect and why. Tell me how you feel.
And then, lets all burn their wishes. Lets paint the streets of our own cities with our responsibilities. Let the ashes be you. Lets die, and come back as something stronger.

8 comments:

helen said...

they want me to be just like them with their ideals and their thoughts. they want me to be open and vulnerable and tell them how i feel all the time, they think they do, but they really do not. they want me to care and not steal mouthfuls of my parents wine here and there. they want me to believe.

and so i'm angry, but i love them.
and i hate them too.

i just want to go somewhere where nobody knows me.

apparellel said...

they expect me to be an emotional zombie, to not cry—to be sad or feel in any way(unless it's happiness of course). they want me not to end up in the emergency room at 4am from slicing too deep.

klonopin doesn't work anymore, drinking doesn't do it for me. tramadol doesn't work anymore either. i want some real pain killers, because what they do is kill the pain, the emotional pain. that's all i want.... right now.

xxx
t

Linda Love London said...

1. To take pretty pictures. Flowers, smiling childer and so on. To sell them to fucking IKEA, make posters. Make a living for myself. To do something "right"

2. To stop smoking

3. To have a great blog. To know something everyone doesn't. How does one do that?

nia said...

Mother wants me to be her mother, man and therapist in one, not her daughter. Father wants me to stay away from him. Boys want me to save them when I am more lost than ever and tired of saving others. They all want me to be honest, but only when my opinion is right, which means same as theirs (and that is rare). They want me to talk about my feelings and then they say I am crazy. They want me to listen to them, but I am too tired of listening.

Loulou said...

i burn my wishes every year drown them in Krug and swallow them to kill them inside.
they want my body to mature (it wont)
my brain to wake up (its ancient)
to be awake on amphetamines (i fall asleep or paralyse)
to be social ( i'm phobic)
to have a carreer (i wasn't made for anything but burning money i havent earned)
show what's underneath the surface
(i have hidden that too well to find it ever again)
the only thing i am sure off, i physically do not want to die, aka following my ancient soal.
I say sweet dreams.
wake me up.
x
ps. i'm six years too old, they don't care,as long as we don't tell as long as our bodies won't. we move where we feel save, we feel save in what we know, we feel save in our childhood traumas

Thea said...

Oh my word, your words are so powerful and evocative. Having just read Lolita, it strikes me that your words have just as much strength in them as Nabokov's. Reading through your blog, I'm getting shivers up and down my spine. You are truly something spectacular. x

Aurélie said...

they want me to stay focused. once you walked upon the road of perfection, you're not allowed to differ. you have to fit and stay tucked in, no sudden movements, no speaking-up. and when you're asked to forgive them, you must do so with love.
bisous,
a

Tabs A. Geek said...

What eats me the most about expectations, is the people who place them on us never realize that it doesn't open up doors, but rather limits us from achieving our greatest potential.

There are only two ways most react to the expectations -- always striving unsuccessfully to fulfill them, or bringing upon ourselves destruction in order to rebel.

You'd think after all this time, someone would have realized that that is all those expectations to do us.