I Am an Emotional Creature Read online

  than the babies’ parents made

  this year.

  Why don’t they just give it to them?

  Slavery is back

  but never went away.

  Just ask anyone who’s been whipped

  how deep the legacy.

  Six million dead in the Congo

  and they never made the news,

  and don’t tell me it doesn’t have

  to do with color

  and minerals.

  Poor folks are dying first

  From hurricanes

  Shame

  Tsunamis

  Radiation

  Pollution

  Floods

  And neglect.

  Rich folks

  just put up fancier super-electrified gates

  on their private perfect cities.

  Everyone’s having “benefits”

  and throwing fancy parties

  with lots of swag

  so the rich people feel good about giving

  away the tiny little bit of the whole lot they have.

  But no one really wants to change anything.

  If you really want it

  you have to give something up

  like everything

  and then those that have, wouldn’t,

  and then who would they be?

  And that’s too complicated

  so they write checks

  and keep doing the same old things.

  Selling change.

  Making revolution profitable.

  Corporations own everything anyway

  even our hippie jeans, memory cells, and rain.

  Why do so many women leaders look like Margaret Thatcher

  and act even meaner?

  Why doesn’t anyone remember anything?

  And how come rich bad people

  get paid lots of money to give speeches

  and poor bad people are tortured

  and in prisons?

  Is there anyone in charge?

  Or is this whole thing spinning out until it explodes

  or dissolves?

  And if there is something we can do

  why aren’t we doing it?

  What happened to fury?

  What happened to accuracy

  or accountability?

  What happened to not showing off your wealth?

  What happened to kindness?

  What happened to teenagers rebelling

  instead of buying and selling?

  What happened to teenagers kissing

  instead of blogging and dissing?

  What happened to teenagers marching

  and refusing

  instead of exploiting and using?

  I want to touch you in real time

  not find you on YouTube,

  I want to walk next to you in the mountains

  not friend you on Facebook.

  Give me one thing I can believe in

  that isn’t a brand name.

  I’m lonely.

  I’m scared.

  Girls younger than me are giving blowjobs

  in homeroom

  and they don’t even know it’s sex.

  They just want to be popular

  and get some respect.

  Most girls my age are taking pills

  or not getting out of bed

  or eating or starving

  or getting nose jobs or implants

  or getting cut

  or twittering away

  or covering themselves

  or desperate for a way

  to be awake without faking

  to be alive without freaking

  to be serious

  to be true

  to even think of loving someone

  when we’re already doomed.

  You tell me how to be a girl in 2010

  I say let’s go for it

  if it’s all coming down.

  I say let’s speak it

  let’s fight it

  let’s right it

  there’s nothing to hold on to

  if it’s already gone.

  They left it to us.

  It sucks but it’s true.

  It’s you and me baby.

  LET ME IN

  Suburbs, USA

  Oh God. I hate it when they act like that.

  “Sit down. Shut up. Stop embarrassing me. Please!”

  Don’t worry!

  I don’t say this out loud. God no. Only in my head. These are my friends … supposedly.

  “Oh God. Please stop. You are so utterly immature.”

  I hate it when all those people look at me.

  Not like them. They’re always showing off. They’re not so sure of themselves when they’re alone. But in the posse—giddyup.

  It’s hopeless. I can’t keep up. I’m always one Marc Jacobs, one Juicy Couture behind.

  There’s Julie.

  “Hi hi.” Kiss kiss.

  She hates my guts. Look at her cruising my once-something-now-so-over boot. I wish my feet were leaves. Blow away. I bought the brown leather riding boots like you said. Even though I’m allergic to horses and I didn’t have the money. Or I should say my mother didn’t. She’s a temp secretary and sometimes for weeks doesn’t even get called. I got hysterical in the shoe store. Started hyperventilating on the floor. My mother was so embarrassed that she paid.

  But then they changed right after that. Julie says riding boots are so pre-Britney. It’s all about purple UGGs. My mother will not even consider it. She doesn’t get it. She constantly jeopardizes my position. I mean she’s the reason I can’t keep up. I hate my mother and I hate these painful riding boots even more. To be honest I didn’t like them in the first place. Now I just look like a stupid girl without a pony.

  Oh God, Julie just can’t stop.

  “Cut it out, okay? I got the drop circle earrings like you said and the … Just stop checking me out.”

  Don’t worry. I don’t say this out loud. Only in my head. They are my friends … supposedly.

  Julie now hates every bit of me. It happened yesterday. I completely blew it. I was accidentally nice to Wendy Apple in front of them. I forgot and hugged her right there. I lost myself. Wendy is so out. She’s got wild hair and her family lives in this ugly house and she has the dumbest laugh. She can’t help herself and she really doesn’t care. To be honest, I sort of like Wendy. Well, I admire her. She’s pretty sarcastic and draws these amazing pictures of slutty angels who are always falling from somewhere like outer space. But it’s familiar.

  Julie says she’s not like us. Well, them. Julie saw me hug Wendy and did the big eyeball roll in front of all of the posse like I was demented or pathetic and then she turned her back on me. So did they. Like her backup dancers.

  So I got mad at Wendy. I shoved her a little and turned my head and told Wendy to stay away from me. She just looked at me, stared in shock like I was an alien. Then she started crying. That made me feel pretty shitty because I kind of like her a lot. But it made Julie like me again. Later Julie gave me the same kind of glitter lipstick that Beyoncé wore at the MTV music awards. Julie only used it for two weeks.

  But she is suspicious. So are the others. The word is out. It’s because of my clunky boots and my tits. Well, my lack of them. Julie is stacked and that’s why all the greatest guys are after her. She and Bree rule the posse. They don’t go anywhere apart. Even to pee. I saw them go into the toilet together. They were laughing real loud and we were all wondering if it was us they were laughing at. Wendy told me they had padded bras and went all the way. That’s why the guys like them so much. But Julie is genuinely pretty and very skinny. Her stomach is totally wholly abbed and flat like Gwen Stefani’s and she’s got that “I can’t help it if I’m perfect” smile. Bree’s hair is actually a little frizzy but she’s got perfect breasts and the coolest voice all deep like Miley and she doesn’t even have to fake it. She was born like that. Bree brought me into the posse ’cause I helped her with
her history exam. She definitely regrets it now. I am the contaminator. Loser-girl virus. It spreads so fast, and once you get it you’re forever dead and ugly.

  Oh God. Look at them. They can’t even go to the vending machine without each other. Aren’t they happy?

  I shouldn’t be telling you this. Breaking confidentiality. Totally illegal. We signed this posse agreement, really cool like Angelina Jolie’s personal assistants do.

  But sometimes I want to say:

  “Grow up. Be real. Stop pretending. Leave me alone.”

  Don’t worry, I don’t say this out loud. Only in my head. These are my friends … supposedly.

  But the reason they hate Wendy Apple so much is ’cause she was one of them once. Higher up than Bree. I mean, she could have been a Julie. What Wendy did was like a revolutionary. She just gave it up. I mean, she walked away. She said it was stupid. And she told everyone their secrets. Even the ugliest and fattest girls know about their padded bras. Julie and Bree tried to sue. But the posse agreement didn’t really hold up in high school court.

  I can’t believe it. Julie and Bree are all over Amber. That’s because of Amber’s older brother who Julie is suddenly dating. Amber made this happen, and so now Julie is just worshipping her. I mean, God, you would think Amber would be embarrassed. Two weeks ago Julie and Bree humiliated her in the locker room, did the posse circle in the shower when Amber was naked and we all laughed at her body.

  You know Wendy wrote me a note in third period and said she wasn’t crying for herself. She said she was crying for me ’cause I started out so nice and now I am so desperate. But I’m not funny like Wendy or talented. I am so tragically in the middle. Not one outstanding characteristic. I have nothing going for me … but them.

  Wait a minute. There’s no more room at the table. Tiffany was supposed to get there first and save me a seat. But Tiffany is sitting in between Julie and Bree.

  Oh God, look at my boots—they are so stupid. And my hair, I hate it. My mother can’t even get work as a typist. I’m just a pathetic blob of middle girl.

  “Please don’t do this. Make room at the table. Tiffany, what about my seat? Don’t squeeze me out. Tiffany, stop pretending I’m not here. Oh look, look. Julie is braiding your hair. So now you’re Julie’s friend. Tiffany! Tiffany, turn around! I am here. I am not dead. What? What?”

  Bree is motioning them to cut me off. They’re giving me the posse slam.

  “Don’t do that. Bree, remember I helped you pass the exam? I gave you the answers and risked my ass. Listen. I don’t like these riding boots. I bought them for you. I know you were really generous to let me in because I am so utterly insignificant. I know I don’t have breasts. I’ll get the UGGs. I promise. I won’t be nice to people you hate. I’ll do whatever you want. Please. Please just let me sit down. Make room on the bench. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in!!”

  Oh God. Everyone is looking. I must be really screaming. It’s in the cafeteria and not just in my head.

  “Let me in. Make room on the bench.”

  (Tantrum)

  “I can’t do it, Julie. I can’t keep up. I will never be invited. I won’t ever get the guy. My hair is stringy and ugly and my breasts don’t exist. I am a piece of shit shit shit. Let me in. Let me in.”

  (She collapses.)

  (She wakes up.)

  I wake up at Wendy’s. There is incense burning that smells like fruit. Apples, I think. Right. Wendy Apple. I don’t remember how I got here. Wendy is sitting next to the bed, drawing a picture of me as an angel in transition. She says I have hit bottom. And that it feels terrible now. But I am lucky it has happened so young. She says she will be my friend if I can stop worrying about being popular. She says there are others who don’t fit in and I will like them better. She says there is another world and the door is open. She says she can help.

  Wendy laughs and it’s too loud. I want to be pretty. Wendy is incredibly kind. I want to be skinny. Wendy is on the outside. And I am no one. Wendy is by my bed and she is drawing my picture.

  WHAT DON’T YOU LIKE ABOUT BEING A GIRL?

  Girls can’t control anything

  Boys can do anything they want

  My brother is adored,

  I am ignored

  My boobs, people talking about my boobs

  People assuming you can’t do something

  My boobs, it all changed with my boobs

  Blood, cramps, seven days

  People thinking you are weak

  A girl can get pregnant

  You have to do your hair

  You have to remove your hair

  Wash and iron clothes

  More chance of being raped

  Have to take care of husbands and kids

  Girls can’t work even though

  they are educated.

  GIRL FACT

  One in five U.S. high school girls say they do not

  know three adults to turn to if

  they have a problem.

  BAD BOYS

  New York, New York

  I like bad boys

  It’s the danger

  He goes to boarding school

  He’s a darker person

  Sort of like me

  We’re both troubled

  I’m better at hiding it

  I cut myself

  Trying to find something I’m good at

  My father is very successful

  High expectations

  I fail them a lot

  I’m not the person they want me to be

  My mother wants a perfect family

  I don’t believe in perfection

  Perfect in my mother’s world:

  Straight A’s

  Super-thin

  Being intelligent and happy

  Really good at everything

  I don’t know who I am

  Cutting myself

  Trying to control

  Everything crashing down on me

  It became a release

  I gave my mother a poem

  She sent me to a shrink

  My shrink

  gave me a rubber band

  to put on my wrist

  Rather than cutting I snap myself

  Mom wants me to be a model

  She weighs me every day

  She weighs herself twice a day

  Her older sister was a model

  and she was fat

  She’s been monitoring my weight since

  I was in the seventh grade

  I tell her I don’t want to be a model

  She says I need to lose pounds

  I started to make myself throw up just

  so my mother would leave me alone.

  My best friend shoots Ritalin to lose weight

  Everyone pretends they have ADD

  You get extra time on the tests

  and you do better which will

  get you into an Ivy League college

  I feel absolutely alone in the world

  The things my mother would like to change about me:

  I’m disorganized

  I wear big boots in summer

  Have grungy vintage clothing

  I listen to weird loud music

  I feel a connection with Sylvia Plath

  I cut my own hair

  Hacked my bangs into pieces

  She flipped out

  She wants me in Ralph Lauren sweaters

  My boyfriend went through rough times

  He has his own blog

  Yesterday he got grounded

  He spray-painted a bomb on his bedroom wall

  His parents got divorced

  He hates his new apartment

  He’s very angry

  Angry at his father for leaving his mother

  Angry at the new stupid place where they are living

  He is not the most handsome boy

  But he’s troubled

  Like me.

  WHAT I WISH I COULD SAY TO MY MOTHER

  I d
on’t know you

  I’m pregnant

  Listen to me

  I’m gay and I am not the devil

  You can trust me

  I know you are unhappy

  I don’t want to keep taking care of you

  Do you like sex?

  Do you have it a lot?

  Why do you hate your body?

  Don’t read my journal

  Read my journal

  Do you think I’m smart?

  How come you never tell me?

  You’re my role model

  I wish you liked Dad

  I miss Dad

  I want you to be happy

  GIRL FACTS

  Despite years of evaluation in this area, there is

  no evidence to date that abstinence-only

  education delays teen sexual activity. Moreover,

  recent research shows that abstinence-only

  strategies may deter contraceptive use among

  sexually active teens, increasing their risk

  of unintended pregnancy and STIs.

  Six in ten American teens have sex before

  they leave high school, and 730,000 teenage

  girls will get pregnant this year.

  IT’S NOT A BABY, IT’S A MAYBE

  (Teenage girl sucking her thumb)

  My boyfriend told me to stop sucking my thumb.

  He said it was weird and it made me look like a baby.

  I never thought about a baby.

  It happened fast

  and it didn’t feel that great.

  Well, it almost felt good.

  But then he/Carlos stopped

  right when it was about to begin for me.

  I knew I wasn’t supposed to be doing it.

  I was practicing abstinence

  but to be honest, I didn’t really know how to apply it.

  ’Cause once the kissing starts …

  I am tired a lot.

  My mother thinks I’m doing drugs.

  I could never tell her.

  She is super-Catholic.

  Sometimes I picture it like a new little friend

  and we could talk about stuff

  and maybe even later she could help me.

  But that is really far off

  and right now I don’t even have a job or an idea

  about what I would do.

  I wouldn’t be attacking it or anything.

  I would just be removing it.