Tag Archives: poison

When did it become okay to tell someone you don’t like how they look?

NEVER.

It never became okay!

I’ve noticed a recent increase in people commenting on how I look and giving me their quite frankly unwanted opinions on my personal decisions.

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So let me clear this up: this is for all the unwanted hair-touchers, prodders and outspoken opinion makers who I’m sure we have all encountered, and maybe if you realise you have done this you can see how rude and inappropriate you have been.

Respect is the biggest lesson to be learnt here.

Here’s 5 things all arseholes don’t realise:

  • Touching a strangers hair is inappropriate & unwelcome attention.

I cannot really find anyway to make touching a strangers hair an appropriate way to greet someone, so first of all please don’t  do it on a whim because you don’t understand it, and second of all please just don’t ask to do it. Go home and Google it or something. Most people are happy to answer any questions you have, but please don’t interrupt my private conversations. The amount of times I’ve been interrupted by a random hair toucher is unreal! I would NEVER interrupt someone to ask a dumb question so STOP IT NOW!

  • Just because I look different doesn’t  mean I want to talk to you about it

You cannot comprehend how many times I have been asked ‘What do your tattoos mean?’

I don’t ask what your hairdo means or your clothes, really please just leave me alone.

To me it’s mainly decoration, and any that I have that do mean something, what do I owe to you to tell you?

It’s not a strangers business so back the fuck up.

  • People with tattoos think its a way to relate to me:

Okay, so you have tattoos, I have tattoos, that’s great, I still don’t want to talk about mine, so please stand here and tell me for hours about how and when and where you got yours and I can try slowly slither away out of earshot. Holy Christ. I don’t wanna talk about it.

(This one is probably the bane of my life.)

  • You don’t like my hair/tattoos/piercings/image/style and feel an unbearable need to let me know:

I don’t judge you or comment on your life, so please keep your thoughts to yourself. I have a partner and I am very happy and content. I don’t need your approval and I am very aware of my life choices. It doesn’t bother me if you don’t like something about me, but I would certainly never feel the need to tell anyone friend or stranger something about their image that I personally didn’t like. Keep it to yourself! How rude of you! Live and let live!

  • You need to let me know that I’m probably going to regret that:

Oh yeah, so I never realised until you mentioned that it’s permanent.

Yeah I’ll totes regret it.

I hate your face!

(jokes)

So, what I’m trying to say is that I don’t understand why people think its okay to comment, is it because they think I want the attention? I genuinely think that some people assume that if you have tattoos and piercings and ‘mad’ hair you are doing it for attention, well you are very wrong.

I along with most other people who are seen as alternative are just being who we are.

I understand why people ask about these things but most of the time I get asked in a very rude manner. I worded this post in a jokey manner to try keep it fun. I am never rude to people who do ask me about things, but I would live a simpler life without this hassle as I’m sure a lot of people would too.

I choose to live my life this way and I like to decorate my body, I would never dream of asking someone why they don’t have body modifications so please give us a break and realise that we don’t all live our lives  in the same way!

* as a back note I’d like to say that I understand genuine human curiosity and that I can respect that and I can tell the people who are genuinely curious from the invasive rude people! Most of you are just lovely, it’s just a small percentage that lets us down.

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Poison.

There was a poison in your breath, it was subtle, it was hidden behind kind words and reassuring looks. It was like a smoky air wrapped up tightly within a mason jar, anxious to escape.

Naturally with time,  the once fiercely rigid lid would become loosened and the poison would slowly, silently escape. Without warning, the brew, it would strike me

SLAP

and just as quickly, it would be gone again.

It’s difficult to explain; this invisible, odourless hold you had over me. Convincing me I was simply mistaken, I was the silly one, the ridiculous one, just for that one moment, that was enough to make me not only feel, but to believe that I was the bad one.

I fought it sometimes. I tried to be strong,

“I’m not giving in this time.”

I’d pull at it’s gnarly, whiskery grip around me and try to free myself, but this gave the poison it’s potent strength, this fed it, it became larger than me, stronger, leaner. It’s veins pulsated with potential.  It became clear that it was feasting on my fire. I was the poison. Well, at least part of me, was part of it.

Because I fought back.

Over time I realised, having encountered the poison many times, that this unwanted guest needed me. Without me, it did not exist, without me it had no fuel. Without me, the jar would be broken and the poison would be incomplete.

So, I removed a vital ingredient.

Me.

I broke the jar.

I let the poison out.

I turned a blind eye. Without me the poison cannot exist.

I don’t taste the poison anymore, I don’t smell it or taste it in the air.

No more poison.

Poison.

Gone.

 

 

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