Every year for Halloween I wanted to be a pumpkin, sunflower, m&m, turtle.
But, when you get older, the costumes tend to get smaller. Finessing curves intoeyecandyinstead ofmasterpiece.American beauty turned apple pie cutie.
So, this year, I decided to be a school teacher, nurse, fairy, Wonder Woman.
But, when I went to buy the costume I was like, "Where's the rest of it.? Is B for books or boobs? Was the toothfairy a stripper? To check temperatures or raise them? Oh, hell no. Heels?"
Halloween has become a different type of freakshow and all that I am don't fit prettily into polyester and spandex.
I'd much rather be a sasquatch, Godzilla, King Kong, Lochness. Goblin, ghoul, a zombie with no conscience. Everybody knows I'm a motherfcking monster.
Society is trying to squeeze the fantasy out of us--turn our feminine fatal.
So, this year I think I'll be monster. Let me be mummy--empty of all organs so they'd never fail me. Only my heart would remain, the center of intelligence and emotion. But, I'd never need to feel another pair of greedy eyes on me.
I'd much rather be vampire--my reflection dissapearing every time I looked in the mirror so I wouldn't have to worry about flaws that stare blankly back at me. I will suck everyone woman's stereotype out of your throats.
I've heard that some of the most beautiful women are the craziest ones. On a bdd day I'm human, on a full moon--werewolf that I exist when the lunar ticks. Ticking 'till the time comes when I'm finally comfortable in my own skin.
Let me be your worst nightmare for one night. I'll shed away my wings and Betsy Johnson's and I'll play boogieman. See, I know what you're afraid of--A woman who can do bad, no evil, all by herself. But, nowadays, boogieman is a lot less frightening than a strong woman.
But, no matter what garments we wrap ourselves in, a woman's status as trick, treat, or geek is not up for discussion.
A woman dressing, acting, or being should beher choice.
If a woman wants to wear a skimpy outfit, let it be her choice.
If a woman wants to cover up let it be her choice.
If I wanna be a motherfucking monster then let it be my choice.
Is B for books or for boobs? Both.
To check temperatures or raise them? Both.
Was the tooth fairy a stripper? Maybe.
But who cares?
See, I'd much rather be woman and if it means that I must be a monster then
“One of my philosophy professors lectured wildly about love once, yelling: ‘When you’re in love with someone, that person is the lighthouse of your universe.’ (I scrawled it inside Science and Poetry in pencil—lighthouse of your universe—as if I would ever forget that phrase.) He was a delightful caricature of his position. I could swear he literally tore his hair out while howling at us. He went on, ‘Nothing means as much without that person.’ One of the men in the class repeated, incredulous, half-laughing, ‘So you’re saying you can’t enjoy, like, a vacation, without someone if you’re really in love with them?’ ‘Of course not,’ the professor replied. ‘Not completely. You recognize beauty, but beauty means less if they don’t witness it with you. Beauty is less. You see something sublime and your first thought is that they should be there with you. It’s not as good without them. They illuminate. They make everything more.’”