Tag: poetshub

you are like the palaces in lucknow.

because you see, having dinner together was only a thing when you started smoking instead of attending your classes and making out with boys in your section instead of the girls from the hostel opposite to yours.

you are like the palaces in lucknow. 
the tapestries that hang on your walls are fingerprints of each poem i wrote about you// the disordered rugs are a sign that perhaps even the most romantic of poets can’t fix all that’s wrong with us// and the half-open windows are the hesitance you show every time i try to enter. the hesitance you turn into anger as the whistling windows get eroded by the wind// and the clock that ticks twelve hours behind is your perpetual need to sulk over the past// for it isn’t the past until you choose to let go of it. 
and the chandelier built of mirrors with hexagonal structures exists so that maybe every time you look up while praying, you see yourself instead of God           
                                                                                because damn it you’re all you’ve ever cared about.
and the door with three locks made of silver are the tests you put everyone through once in a while because trust is not a word your lying deceiving father could ever teach you// and the dining table has only one clean chair while the other five remain covered with dust, because you see having dinner together was only a thing when you started smoking instead of attending your classes and making out with boys in your section instead of the girls from the hostel opposite to yours.

and the carved markings next to the painting on the wall are the childhood you lived like a rebel, doing everything you could to prove you were different. but that painting is still untouched. immune to your fight or flight response. that painting of an enchanting landscape with mountains and a fresh river stream, perhaps a magical place that you could only ever dream of, a magical place that was your only chance of escape from the horrid palace that you call your home.
from the horrid palace that is only left with soldiers to guard its doors, 
from the horrid palace that you live in, but your heart abandoned long ago. 

the months of the year as descriptions of people i love

.

.

january; the smell of cologne, long showers, grey sweatpants, cold stares, black caves, masquerades, full moon, leather jackets, playing poker, high heels, embroidered curtains, rolling your eyes, smudged lipstick.

.

.

.

.

february; the smell of highlighters, straight lines, hand sanitizers, art museums, waffles, going home after a party, new york apartments, off white walls, long bus rides, the smell of glue. 

.

.

.

.

.

march; the smell of freshly cut grass, stargazing, picnic mats, world maps, purple tulips, floral dresses, colourful clips, sunshine that blinds your eyes, holding hands, open windows, soft plushies, fruit salads, afternoon naps, wings of a butterfly, crying of happiness. 

.

.

.

.

april; the smell of old newspapers, warm hugs at the airport, paper planes, 90s magazines, telephone directories, handmade gifts, borrowed books, bicycles, chapsticks, going on rides at a carnival, velvet tops. 

.

.

.

.

.

may; the smell of shampoo, sunflowers swaying, hikes, dad shorts, diving in the pool, round glasses, unsolved mysteries, dimples, baseball caps, maple syrup, scrunchies, smiling in relief, forehead lines.

.

.

.

.

.

june; the smell of wine, weddings, crowded malls, drunk girls in the bathroom, bell bottoms, dancing in pitch black rooms, hotels, late night calls, ready made cakes, sunglasses.  

.

.

.

.

.

july; the smell of the ocean, wavy hair, coconuts, roller skating, bandanas, open sunroofs, home full of plants, face masks, sandcastles, pillow forts, evening walks, the summer you always remember, cotton candy. 

.

.

.

.

august; the smell of rain, blue roses, polaroids, vast forests, vinyls, dreamcatchers, lemon iced tea, untitled poems, falling asleep in the car, singing in the balcony, grey eyes.

.

.

.

.

.

september; the smell of coffee, wooden flooring, handwoven rugs, black gel pens, blunt knives, broken mirrors, alpenliebe toffees, dry leaves, playing the ukulele, cowboy hats. 

.

.

.

.

.

october; the smell of old books, my grandma’s cooking, the great gatsby, bonfires, sticky notes, bullet journals, purple skies at 5 am, singing ballads during karaoke, baking cookies, treehouses, watching the sunset from a hill top. 

.

.

.

.

.

november; the smell of vanilla, fuzzy socks, hot chocolate, sky lanterns, peanut butter jars, silver disco balls, milk moustaches, ice cream stalls, henna tattoos, hoola hoops, rubber bands, sleeping on someone’s shoulder, falling on your bed after a long day. 

.

.

.

.

december; the smell of tobacco, new year’s fireworks, chandeliers, city lights, empty bathtubs, all nighters, elevators, watching fast cars pass by, helicopter rides, listening to the radio, talking to a stranger at a party, hoop earrings, champagne glasses. 

.

.

Are stereotypes meant to silence?

But who on earth gives us the right to judge? Who gives us the right to make them feel as though by being themselves, they are already guilty of something? 

Today, I want to shed light on a subject which we barely question ourselves about. I figured that I cannot merely touch upon it through a poem like I usually do. For this is something we as a society really need to dig deeper into. And the magical term is;

Cultural capital. 

This refers to personal assets which provide us with social mobility. This enables us to climb the social ladder without necessarily having wealth or financial resources. It includes our skills, knowledge, interests, hobbies, etc. 
In layman terms, cultural capital is when we’re perceived on the basis of our non economic strengths. Unfortunately, this leads to class differences and social inequality 99% of the time. But one of its biggest consequences is gender inequality. 

You’re probably confused but let me explain. 

Women and particularly teenage girls hold almost zero cultural capital in our society. Their interests are quite frequently looked down upon in contrast to those of men. Things that are stereotypically marketed towards men such as sports, action films, action figures are generally considered good taste. Whereas when it comes to the stereotypical interests of women which include rom coms, make-up, and even fashion to an extent, then the self-created critics are always quick to comment. I mean ask yourself, what holds higher value in your mind?

A movie like ‘Mean Girls,’ which consists of rich spoilt school girls as the protagonists who plot plans to avenge each other or a movie like ‘Thor,’ which has a strong masculine superhero who fights other supernatural creatures as the lead character? 
If I had to take a wild guess, then based on the centuries long gender biased mindset we’ve all been victims of, I’d say the latter. 

We are naturally inclined towards downplaying the likes and dislikes of women in our daily life. 

Let’s take another example; fashion. 

Stereotypically, most females are drawn to clothing and accessories. They tend to care about the way they look more than men do. However, the fashion industry as a whole is considered highly superficial. Women who enjoy styling themselves are quickly boxed into the spoilt and stupid rich brat stereotype. Although, if a man takes care of the way he dresses and experiments with his clothing then he’s considered ‘cool,’ and ‘classy.’ He’s even termed as smart looking to an extent. 

I think it’s important we ask ourselves why. 

For this is not just present in the cinema or a few other industries. It’s present within us as well.

When I was younger, I’d never have admitted to liking Taylor Swift or One Direction. Those were two artists whose fan bases mostly consisted of female fans. Unsurprisingly, it was considered ‘basic’ to like them. If you were fond of Taylor Swift, then you were immediately labelled as the dumb girly teenager. When it came to One Direction, people were quick to assume that girls only liked them because of their attractive looks. I mean what else, right? People didn’t waste time listening to their music before calling them the band which only shallow teenage girls listened to. Young women were practically shamed for having a choice which was different from that of the men.

Sometimes, it was even worse. For quite frequently, a man and woman might have the same interest but a woman is shamed for it whereas a man isn’t. 

Let’s go back to Taylor Swift. She was and still is famous for writing most of her songs about boys who broke her heart. Now although heartbreaks are a normal part of life, she was continuously shamed for it. She was perceived as this immature unintelligent blonde who was utterly boy obsessed and was termed as someone who was forever ‘victimising’ herself.
Nevertheless, when Post Malone wrote about a girl who broke his heart, everybody was ready to drop everything and scream ‘fuck that bitch,’ with him. They began to think of him as someone who understood real pain. 

But why? 

What’s so different about a young woman writing about heartbreak compared to a young man doing the same? 

A more current life example would be the different trends which keep coming into light. Like the whole vsco girl thing. Young girls were trolled, bullied and practically forced to feel shameful of talking and behaving in a certain way which seemed to be stupid in the eyes of other people. Take a look at tiktok. There are so many videos on youtube of people reacting to tiktoks of teenage girls and just making fun of them for having ‘no talent,’ or being dense, all because they chose to put themselves out there by recording short videos. 

But who on earth gives us the right to judge? Who gives us the right to make them feel as though by being themselves, they are already guilty of something? 

This right here, is the sole reason why girls grow up to silence themselves. They grow up to become women who prefer to remain quiet because when your interests and opinions aren’t valued then what’s the point of using your voice? When your likes and views are naturally considered inferior to those of others then what’s the point of arguing? What’s the point of saying anything at all, right? 

I’d like you to just imagine if teenage boys were picked on for liking superheroes or unrealistic action movies the same way young girls are made fun of for enjoying sappy romance movies and barbie dolls. But that could never happen. Because we have been programmed to think of anything that is associated with the female gender as something which is inferior to the things that are linked to the male gender.

It is way ‘cooler’ to watch Mission Impossible instead of Clueless. 

It is way ‘cooler’ to have Iron Man figurines instead of Barbie dolls.

It is way ‘cooler’ to prefer shirts over dresses. 

It is way ‘cooler’ to be a professional swimmer than a professional makeup artist. 

Our minds have been installed with a toxic mindset since birth and we don’t know why. 

When we’re two years old, we don’t know the definitions of words like pencil, chair, or even mother. We just know how to identify them with images. We just know that the woman who feeds us everyday is our mother, the object we write with is a pencil, and the piece of furniture we sit on is a chair. But when we’re two, we don’t know how to state the meanings of each word. We only know what we’ve seen and heard. 

Similarly, we as a society, including our ancestors, don’t know why the colour pink or the floral dresses forever 21 sells are associated with females. We don’t know why scary movies and sports like boxing are associated with males. We cannot do anything to change that identification established in our minds either. 

But what we can do is start believing and reminding ourselves every day that liking pink is just as okay as liking blue. 

Enjoying the Avengers; End Game is just as okay as enjoying the Titanic. 

Being a stereotypical teenage girl is just as okay as being a stereotypical teenage boy. Not being either of those is alright too. 

For our likes and dislikes make us who we are and that is something which should never ever be compared.