I Am Not That Girl.

Have you ever read a post and stopped midway just to confirm if you knew the author ? This was me today ,thanks to Kanyiva .I almost thought is a very close friend who knew me too well to pen such .Maybe he/she wanted to tell the world about this annoying ,using 1st person as a way of hiding the identity . The original post is here

I am not the kind of girl they sing about in the music videos or write about in the great love stories. We all know that girl with the long legs and the symmetrical breasts that hypnotize men from a mile away. The kind of girl that has something to say about both football and shopping. The one that one that is crowned prom queen today and class president the next. The girl that all the girls want to be and all the men want to be with. I wish I was but I am not.

My kind of girl is the one that cracks the awkward jokes that no one laughs at the table. The one that leaves one sock at the door and the other one in the kitchen when she is tired. The one that dances on the street when no song is playing. Or laughs out loud when nothing funny has happened. There are days I just want to stay in my pyjamas and cuddle with my tub of ice cream because the week did not go as I had planned. Or lose my mind because I hate not being in control. Diets sound appealing to me but I enjoy my chicken wings too much to go the healthy route. That is the reason you will probably never see a thigh gap in my jeans or find me in jeans at all. I honestly don’t remember the last time I sat up right and crossed my legs because I like to be more functional than aesthetic. More comfortable than beautiful. Disgusting, right? I am just getting started.

I get angry too fast most of the time. It was annoying to my exes but I will probably not stop anytime soon because I find it hard to suppress my emotions. Especially when I feel like I am being treated less than I deserve. I fall in love too fast and take way too long to let go. Never knowing when to be cautious or who not too trust. It’s just in me to see the best in people and be hopeful in grim situations. I enjoy to take on traditional roles in the home like cooking for my husband every night just as much as I would enjoy chairing a board room or running a Republic. In fact, I cannot wait till I can be that kind of wife. I know it’s 2016 and my feminist sisters will devour me alive for saying this but the idea of submission to my future husband warms my heart.

My breed of girls are not only too loud, too opinionated, too complicated and too rush but also too smart, too creative, too strong, too kind, too loving and too beautiful. Always… Too Something. That is where the problem comes in. Clearly,I am not the perfect kind of girl. Not even close. I was not made to be loved by everyone. Not too sure I was made to be loved by any one all together. However, there’s a split second where these imperfections become stunning. Where every broken piece comes together to form art. And just like art, one person will look at it and see trash, another will look at it and see a pure master piece. Whatever your view is, the piece of art remains a master piece only to be appreciated by a selected few. I apologize if I raise my voice at you or if I am too quiet. I apologize if my bold opinions offend you or if my confidence intimidates you. My grammar might fall apart some times. My i’s may not all be dotted and my t’s are almost never crossed. I am truly sorry if my highs and lows confuse you but this is me.Both Clerk Kent and Superman; the strengths and the weaknesses coming together to form a rare breed of super heroines. No matter how many times I try to be Miss. Perfect, I am not that kind of girl.

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