What does it mean to be a woman?

In the 1950s, the emphasis was on being a caring wife, a wonderful mother, and a dutiful homemaker. The perfect woman was not one quick to argue, but a woman of acknowledge the wisdom in her husband’s commands. A woman worth looking up to was not one of much education, but of much poise and a clean home.

What was not commonly spoke of was the depression that these housewives experienced. With reformed twenty first centruy thinking, we are all too aware of the imperfections of the 1950s ideal of a woman and impossibility of family life. While this can be an advancement in society and we may pride ourselves in it, there is a degree to which we are not finished. As the saying goes, we have come so far, but we  have so far to go.

In today’s society, it is expected of a woman to be balanced, educated, and passionate. The external embodiment of these is the action of being a mother and wife, of having a career, and following a dream. When looking at ourselves, we women always want more of something. We want to be better mothers, better wives, better workers, and better artists.

The problem of perfectionism has not gone away. The problem of perfectionism is just found in other muses. The need to be perfect used to be about the home and about the children and about being the perfect wife. Now we want to be an amazing friend, a spiritually wise person, and a passionate follower of our dream. The reality we often face is crushing, just like the 1950s woman.

There is no such thing as the balanced woman. We, as women, will have to handle our perfectionist spirit. Let us learn to water only the gardens that we care to invest in.

These are all the things I wish to do/be/become before I die:

Woman of God (I am)

Teacher

Writer

Mother

Wife

Traveler

Journalist

Friend

Blogger

Go to my tumblr page and there is so much more!

I am praying that I become content with the women I am and slowly add to my repertoire. I am okay with, write now, being the woman I am as I work on one thing at a time.

Naivity

With all the chaos of normality surrounding us, all the mainstream beats pushing down on you, making you conform, try to lay down here next to me (I saved you a spot). Let’s roll over, press our ears to the ground, straining to listen to the off-beat indie rock ringing out from the Underground’s loud voices. While the army drill sergeants yell commands from the Man, yelling about needing to think about money, thinking about practicalities, let’s share a pair of headphones and drown him out, out, out. Don’t wanna be like our parents, working for money, hating the system, yet bowing down to it from 9-5 faithfully. Let’s run away, if just for tonight, while we’re still in the land of ideals, the land of youth. The youth in my blood is screaming yes we can, the rebellion coursing through my veins let’s out a war cry I cannot ignore. I must take action, I must escape this normality surrounding me, I must join the fight. The fight for you, for me, for us, for love, for beating the odds, for all of it, is written on my heart and shines through in defiant eyes. Fill me with hope instead of doubt. Tell me we’ll be different, tell me we’ll make it, tell me we’ll make it through with no inch of cynical thoughts in our idealist brains.

Believe.

Never to Fade

I used to believe in 11:11 wishes, 

Used to dream of midnight kisses, 

I believed in these things and much more, 

But all that was in a time long, long, before, 

Before the boy ripped at my chest, 

Smiling, thinking he knew what was best, 

Tearing me limb from limb, reaching for my core, 

My insides are completely red, raw, and sore, 

Mutilated, none of these fairy tale dreams remain, 

My once white canvass has a permanent stain, 

a stain made in a fit of red passion all too fast, 

I guess intimacy and love were never meant to last, 

All my birthday wishes never did come true, 

Every day no longer bright, but gray & blue, 

Waking up in this big bed all alone, 

Searching for a nonexistent note by the hotel phone.

The young, beautiful boy disguised as a sheep, 

Snuck out quietly as a wolf, leaving me stuck in sleep. 

Helios & Luna

“Tell me the story

About how the sun

loved the moon so much

he died every night

to let her breathe.”

Once upon a time, there was a man named Helios. He was radiant beyond belief, and everyone depended on him. He could have fallen for any of the lovers after him, but he fell for an odd one. She often hid part of herself away and made herself scarce, but sometimes she would be full and happy. He loved her dynamic nature, and soon fell for her. He found that they could not always come together, however. They spent the beginning of their love trying to find a way to be together. He almost said it was not meant to be, but she cried out that distance was okay, that they would be together some days. So he agreed and decided that he would lay down his life of radiance for his love, Luna, to shine. She could not do so while he was out and living, but when he laid down for her, she shone bright and big. She still hid part of the time, but she gradually became whole again, only to shrink back yet again. Luna was in love with Helios, and Helios was in love with Luna. And with a love like that, something is bound to bring them together. They had two children, Solar and Lunar, and their last name was Eclipse.

That, my darling, is how the sun fell in love with the moon so much that he lays down his life each night in order for her to come out for a while and breathe.

Night Time Toast

Here’s to you, here’s to me,

Here’s to us and all that means,

Here’s to the girl who is all alone,

Here is to the child newly grown,

Raise this one to all the teens crying,

Raise it higher for the quite ones sighing,

Sing this out for us who stay up late,

Who were offered love but never took the bait,

So, yeah. Cheers to us, to us who fell out,

Who never knew what that was all about,

Cheers to me, who has yet to see,

What it means to truly love, live, dream, and be.

Talking To The Moon

Hey, it’s me again. You know? The girl who talks to you, Lune, instead of communicating with people each night? Well, I need a bit of advice tonight. There is a lovely bit of light surrounding you, and it is quite radiant. The reflection off of the water creates a wonderful effect. If I was an artist, this is the scene I would choose for my master piece How is Estoiles tonight? I know how he shines, but also know at times he collapses and burns out in places. I wouldn’t want him to think I don’t care about his aches and pains.

Back to my advice question. Please forgive me for getting distracted, oh Lune. I have a secret dream I wish to share with you. I know the stars might not be lined up for me, but I have this dream anyway. *Breathes in dramatically* Okay, I’m just going to say it: I wish to be an actress. It is a cliche, and a highly popular dream. I just wish to become someone else, if only for a little while, on that beloved stage. I want to slip on a costume and with it become a confident young lass from Ireland, or a forgotten and quivering beggar on the streets of New York. Or maybe, if I can pull it off, maybe even a girl who has fallen in love.

Is this absurd, my dear Lune? Should I rethink my dream? I suppose that is my problem. Always thinking instead of doing, always speaking with you instead of conquering my fears and living my dreams.

You are correct, as always, Lune. I will go. I will go to parties on Saturday nights, I will meet boys and kiss them. I will play the part and act out the role of a happy girl on her way to the top. Thank you, O expert Counselor, O wisdom giver, O Lune. Send my best wishes to Estoiles.