A blog only for Suicide Girls
I bought the book a few days ago. sat and read all the little profile snippits with SG's from 2003.
Something about all this is making me think. A lot.
What are we? what am i? am i?
days spin by dizzy dizzy, and yet it remains this question.
where do i fit? where can i be at peace?
where is the woman i've dreamt of since i was 13?
Something about SG plays into this. Whatever you might say about the owners, the leadership, the control... the site has created a niche for women with tattoos and piercings to be considered beautiful. Once it was thought "dirty," and someone stepped up and MADE a place of acceptance.
but i, i who am not shaped for such sportive tricks nor made to court an amourous looking glass...
and what of the words those women spilled out? what of the words i'm bleeding onto this screen now?
I can talk and talk and talk about how lonely i am, and how much i hurt inside.
How I feel broken and used up some days. hopeless. without a future.
and yet to spill these thoughts out here is like trying to wrestle a cool autumn breeze. it slips through your fingers and is gone before you've even tried.
no one sees
no one knows
no one cares
we can be born, live, die... and skip accross the surface of this world like a stone over a pond
it truly affects nothing.
and for those, like me, who cannot find a love, start a family, father children, find some sort of FIT into the puzzle of our society? all forces and signs of our world are pushing at me.
"conform or go" they say.
"malke money, buy shit, get married, lose weight, be normal... or find a long rectangle cut into the earth in which to remove yourself from our sight."
this voice of the collective, to which i cannot belong, i hear it in my dreams
like the droning of angry bees that can't be killed
and it stings
the rejcection stings
the conflict, the personal weakness, the damn sense of betrayal from the world at large.
it stings on the inside where it makes a poisonous wound that cannot heal
I bought the book a few days ago. sat and read all the little profile snippits with SG's from 2003.
Something about all this is making me think. A lot.
What are we? what am i? am i?
days spin by dizzy dizzy, and yet it remains this question.
where do i fit? where can i be at peace?
where is the woman i've dreamt of since i was 13?
Something about SG plays into this. Whatever you might say about the owners, the leadership, the control... the site has created a niche for women with tattoos and piercings to be considered beautiful. Once it was thought "dirty," and someone stepped up and MADE a place of acceptance.
but i, i who am not shaped for such sportive tricks nor made to court an amourous looking glass...
and what of the words those women spilled out? what of the words i'm bleeding onto this screen now?
I can talk and talk and talk about how lonely i am, and how much i hurt inside.
How I feel broken and used up some days. hopeless. without a future.
and yet to spill these thoughts out here is like trying to wrestle a cool autumn breeze. it slips through your fingers and is gone before you've even tried.
no one sees
no one knows
no one cares
we can be born, live, die... and skip accross the surface of this world like a stone over a pond
it truly affects nothing.
and for those, like me, who cannot find a love, start a family, father children, find some sort of FIT into the puzzle of our society? all forces and signs of our world are pushing at me.
"conform or go" they say.
"malke money, buy shit, get married, lose weight, be normal... or find a long rectangle cut into the earth in which to remove yourself from our sight."
this voice of the collective, to which i cannot belong, i hear it in my dreams
like the droning of angry bees that can't be killed
and it stings
the rejcection stings
the conflict, the personal weakness, the damn sense of betrayal from the world at large.
it stings on the inside where it makes a poisonous wound that cannot heal
Haven't talked to you in awhile. What's up.