Typical Dumb Blonde, White Chick Shit

Wherever you are from,

Whatever you do,

Whoever you are-

There is a small, judgmental box

With 4 sides, a bottom, and a top

Just for you.

This box doesn't really care who you think you are-

But is more concerned with what others call you.

The day you called me a-

And I quote-

"Typical dumb blonde, white chick"

You tried to squish me into that box.

People who act differently,

Are alienated- everyone has experienced this

in some extent to some degree, 

simply because no two of us are the same.

And now you are judging me for being

what you have chosen to describe as

typical.

 

You say this as though it is a fact of truth-

Gesturing to all of me.

Instantly I feel the pressing need to defend my individuality,

To tell you all the ways in which I am a nonconformist.

I begin to plan to prove myself to you, to the world, and to a little labelled box-

I will rip my jeans.

I will wear thicker eye-liner.

I will listen to hard-rock

And cuss just because I can.

But if I do-

Then I will simply be entering a new box,

Just as limited and small.

Although I know people shouldn't be defined by such trivial things-

They are. By people like you.

Besides-

I don't want to wear ripped jeans,

I don't like thick eyeliner, and

Hell-to-the-no-

I've never sworn out loud in my life.

(Unless I'm reading this aloud)

 

Being a nonconformist does not mean

Rebelling against everything in this world-

It means being yourself,

Despite everything in this world-

Despite every unrealistic social standard-

Despite every person who tries to tell you

That you are too different-

Or too typical.

I am not obligated to explain myself to anyone.

People like you will never understand me anyways.

But for my sake-

I'm tearing your label of

"Typical dumb blonde, white chick" shit

Into pieces so that I can throw them in your face

And say "so what? I am who I am. And you are welcome."

 

Falling down the school stairs

Does not make me dumb.

I am sorry, but that is just ridiculous.

Let me remind you,

I have a broken foot and my balance

has never been so great anyways.

But I think my tumble is hilarious,

and after spraining my other ankle,

I stood up and laughed at fate's seemingly

strong determination to

Make me fall apart.

You can laugh with me,  no one likes to laugh alone,

But you have no right to purposefully use it against me.

My bruises are mine, and mine alone.

 

When did blonde receive such a limited connotation?

When did my natural hair color begin to determine my intellect.

I am sorry, but that is just ridiculous.

Maybe you need to repeat health class-

I don't think you got the point

That I am this way because of my genetics,

And I shouldn't be ashamed for what you deem

A disadvantage.

 

Yes. I am white.

Obviously because I'm white,

I can't be passionate, loyal, or strong.

I'm sorry, but that is just ridiculous.

But I thought that Martin Luther king established that

People are not their color.

But it's the easiest way for you to make me feel small enough to fit into your box.

So I am instantly boring, vain, and soft.

you were more freakin' wrong than ever.

 

Being a woman

Does not make a chick.

I'm sorry but that is just ridiculous.

No longer can I be nice,

Without being labelled as passive.

As a female,

I am instantly viewed as being vulnerable.

Some will try to poke at my wounds,

Just to prove how weak they think I am.

Others will seek to shelter me from the world,

To prove that they are a true man.

BOTH are keeping me in a little box.

When I do become emotional,

I am overlooked by the excuse of hormones,

And my protests are dismissed as "cute"

where others described as bitchy

BOTH putting us in labelled boxes

that have nothing to do with truth.

 

I am a woman. 

Not a chick.

Never a bitch.

 

So next time you call me a typical dumb blonde, white chick-

I will not apologize for your ridiculousness.

Because your labels are full of shit.

Because everyone is damn flawless. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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