I was saying recently how it's easier to blog when you're happy. But when I try to write poetry, it's a different thing. Working to write about the good times, joy, love, happiness - it doesn't usually call for the pen and ink! Maybe it's because you'd rather be off enjoying it than trying to pick it apart on paper? Maybe it's because you run the risk of sounding cheesy or trite when you try to put it into words?
One song of hers that I'm stuck on lately is Present/Infant from her new album. It just strikes me every time I hear it. Given how women are taught to look for their own flaws, and how the currency of conversation between women is in insulting one's own thighs or thin hair or pale skin, I'm guessing many of you can relate to these lyrics. I think that I'm getting better at not constantly telling myself how "fat I am" or "disgusting" but I realized I've moved on to searching for enlarged pores or gray hairs or sagging bits. Not really the best trade-off!
lately i've been glaring into mirrors
picking myself apart
you'd think at my age
i'd of thought of something better to do
then make insecurity into a full time job
make insecurity into an art
and i fear my life will be over
and i will have never lived unfettered
always glaring into mirrors
mad i don't look better
don't let the sellers of stuff power enough
to rob you of your grace
(from Present/Infant by Ani DiFranco)
See it performed here