I smell
sweaty boys that i've learned to love.
I smell downtown corners that i know can't be good for me.
I smell massive amounts of smoke on a daily basis.
I smell my bestfriends house. Its the smell of
rotting clothes, cinammon lotion and the cleanest,
softest, most comforting carpet you will ever lie your
head upon.
I smell wilderness quite rarely. But when i do smell it
I sink myself into it until I am at a loss of any thought
that isn't a song.
I smell camping and I am suddenly overwhelmed with a
feeling of happiness. It's the campfire, singed on all of our clothing
and the crappy coffee we tried to make.
Ithink if you were to smell me I would smell like a mixture of this sweet world.
But if you were to try to smell me specifically I'd be a bland combo of grass, hugs and dirty hippies.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Barbie Beauty Head
Dear Beauty Head,
I'm so sorry that someone named you Beauty Head. I'm so sorry for how you have been portrayed. I can't imagine you are as happy as you peach shaded smile and wide, sparkled lashes are leading on. You must have massive amounts of frustration and possibly depression. Your emotions are concealed. They are tucked deep within your plastic membrane, and I'm writing you to tell you that i cant feel them.
I feel your pulsating rage and oppression that youwill never be able to express. I feel your overwhelming urge to shave your head and scrub off your touched face and eventually collapse in place with no audience to gawk.
Your hands are tired of posing so feminine-like and your cleavage is tired of being stared at. Your virgin skin is busting atthe seems, asking for some blemish, some toxin to let it identify as human.
You're disgusted with your permanent lavender eyeshadow and your plastic elastic jewelry that is supposed to make young girls happy.
I believe you were once perfect for this BeautyHead. I believe you thought it was a marvelous idea to be a symbol of beauty. But you have grown Barbie Head, and matured and you're ready to be freed.
With Great Understanding,
-Hannah
I'm so sorry that someone named you Beauty Head. I'm so sorry for how you have been portrayed. I can't imagine you are as happy as you peach shaded smile and wide, sparkled lashes are leading on. You must have massive amounts of frustration and possibly depression. Your emotions are concealed. They are tucked deep within your plastic membrane, and I'm writing you to tell you that i cant feel them.
I feel your pulsating rage and oppression that youwill never be able to express. I feel your overwhelming urge to shave your head and scrub off your touched face and eventually collapse in place with no audience to gawk.
Your hands are tired of posing so feminine-like and your cleavage is tired of being stared at. Your virgin skin is busting atthe seems, asking for some blemish, some toxin to let it identify as human.
You're disgusted with your permanent lavender eyeshadow and your plastic elastic jewelry that is supposed to make young girls happy.
I believe you were once perfect for this BeautyHead. I believe you thought it was a marvelous idea to be a symbol of beauty. But you have grown Barbie Head, and matured and you're ready to be freed.
With Great Understanding,
-Hannah
Biology Movie Writing
They say shes made up of strong light dependable bones, they say she is alive!
They say her bones are being made and he old bones are being destroyed.
Shes growing up and growing tall, she's gently gliding into her fertile years. She approches her 400 chances to make a baby wth fear.
She just discovered her almond shaped organs that have alll of a sudden made themselves noticable. She wonders about her biological inheritance and when she will have a mature egg. She gapes at the idea of creating a blueprint for a new human being. She vows to never participate. She values her support structures but could do without the "culprit" her body has become.
They say her bones are being made and he old bones are being destroyed.
Shes growing up and growing tall, she's gently gliding into her fertile years. She approches her 400 chances to make a baby wth fear.
She just discovered her almond shaped organs that have alll of a sudden made themselves noticable. She wonders about her biological inheritance and when she will have a mature egg. She gapes at the idea of creating a blueprint for a new human being. She vows to never participate. She values her support structures but could do without the "culprit" her body has become.
Monday, November 5, 2007
YOU ARE HERE
Location: Both Left and Right ears
Cause: Born with both left and right, average, typical ears. Years pass by and holes appear. First puncture excitement, and the 8th pinch is a sinch.
Diagnosis: The teenage girl hope to be somehow special with a overwhelming side of adrenaline.
Treatment: Seemed to be a new hole everytime i got rather antsy.
Follow-up: Numerous looks from older, conserative faces and hundreds and hundreds of amazing ear decorations that i substitute in and out as i please.
Location: Nose
Cause: Mom will say it definitely came from my dad's side, and Dad will argue that its identical to my Mothers. Neither will fess up.
Diagnosis: Large, protruding hunk of nose centered on my face.
Treatment: hmm (A little too oldfashioned for a nosejob...) ahh yes, the sweet compliment of my best friend saying it fits my round face perfectly and she wouldnt have it any other way.
Follow-Up: Boost of self esteem and my first quality powder foundation.
Location: Hair of my head
Cause: I'm assuming someone along my bloodline was a Native American and i honor them for passing on the dark haired gene in this white world of fair people. I thank them for granting me the right to make blonde jokes without becoming some sort of a hypocrit.
Diagnosis: Large, thick, unpredictable locks of brown over processed hair, shoulder length and full of memory.
Treatment: a shampooing with an excessive amount of conditioner to ease my job when detangling in the 10 minutes before first period Geometry.
Follow-Up: A braid here and a pony tail there, but mostly down and a poof. Fellow dark haired love of mine says to me "Look at this hair!" and reminds me of my appreciation of have what i have been given.
Cause: Born with both left and right, average, typical ears. Years pass by and holes appear. First puncture excitement, and the 8th pinch is a sinch.
Diagnosis: The teenage girl hope to be somehow special with a overwhelming side of adrenaline.
Treatment: Seemed to be a new hole everytime i got rather antsy.
Follow-up: Numerous looks from older, conserative faces and hundreds and hundreds of amazing ear decorations that i substitute in and out as i please.
Location: Nose
Cause: Mom will say it definitely came from my dad's side, and Dad will argue that its identical to my Mothers. Neither will fess up.
Diagnosis: Large, protruding hunk of nose centered on my face.
Treatment: hmm (A little too oldfashioned for a nosejob...) ahh yes, the sweet compliment of my best friend saying it fits my round face perfectly and she wouldnt have it any other way.
Follow-Up: Boost of self esteem and my first quality powder foundation.
Location: Hair of my head
Cause: I'm assuming someone along my bloodline was a Native American and i honor them for passing on the dark haired gene in this white world of fair people. I thank them for granting me the right to make blonde jokes without becoming some sort of a hypocrit.
Diagnosis: Large, thick, unpredictable locks of brown over processed hair, shoulder length and full of memory.
Treatment: a shampooing with an excessive amount of conditioner to ease my job when detangling in the 10 minutes before first period Geometry.
Follow-Up: A braid here and a pony tail there, but mostly down and a poof. Fellow dark haired love of mine says to me "Look at this hair!" and reminds me of my appreciation of have what i have been given.
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