I'm tired being a woman.

I'm tired being a woman.

But I am born with a vagina, so I have to deal with it.

I hate the way they assume you like boys at the tender age of TWELVE. OR NINE. MAYBE YOUNGER.

I don't like the pressure of being pretty, of wearing petty make-up, or being graceful. I constantly rant at the futility of it all as I read Miss Temptation by Kurt Vonnegut or Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. We are aiming for beauty, yet we know that we are judged for it. I am intensely against the petty "girl clothes" and "tight pants" while at the same time, embracing the "Don't judge me" rationale in our heads. The living irony of modern feminism is getting questionable, even suspicious.

The inexplicable theories of "Why He Doesn't Call" or "Why Do Men Cheat" on magazines and dumb newspapers makes me feel that my vagina is just worth a penny... maybe cheaper. The vicious cycle of bigotry and sexism is making me gag. Not to mention, being a woman means you have to keep up with "dating strategies" and "blah blah talks" of arrogant men, if you want to call them one.

I'm tired being a woman. It is a moral and social responsibility. It was never easy.

HOW CAN BEAUTY BE A CURSE? https://www.quora.com/How-can-beauty-be-a-curse/answer/Mable-Clark?srid=htASM

I don't know if I'm just selling a pipe dream.

I don't know if I'm just selling a pipe dream.
Buying for it,
dreaming it,
and finally losing it,
disappointed that every step of the way,
no man can ever fill my void
of illusive emptiness and sorrow
of my courageous pride and bigotry.


any amount of riches,
of wealth and grace,
wits and charm,
success and fame,
can make me secure.
As they always see me,
as they WANT to see IN me.


I don't know if I'm just selling a pipe dream.
An arrogant peacock, imitating a beam
What I do doesn't matter,
It's what I believed in that makes me be.
FREE...
UNLATCHED,
TOO BAD TO BE ATTACHED.
as people brands people
of bland labels and harsh remarks.


I'm your Holly Golightly,
The Evey of V
or maybe the Summer of his Tom,
in his 500 days
of up and fall.


- Danica Ann Niegas
(5-29-2017)

NOTHINGNESS and everything in between

Taking strides on my early 20's, I have already given up on people with soft facades but demented characters. These are some moments when you know injustice bites most.


I cannot give you your happiness.

You assume that you might get some of the sparkles in my eyes, the glamour of having me next to you, latched on your arm while some stranger looks at us and you are proud that you have me for the time being of your satisfaction.

No.

I cannot give you your success.

You assume that your ways are my ways, and you believe that you can measure me a yardstick that measures others as well, that you PREDICT that the rulers of this insane world has the same insane meter stick on an insane rat-race and knightly pipe dreams. Everybody is rich and nobody is happy. You also believe that you can emulate what I do, so you can be happy as well. Hearts can't be carbon copied; each is as authentic as the grains of sand. The charm you are looking for is always elusive, and you always think that you can have it all. The problem with humans is they consider themselves superior, that they know everything, and they can rationalize it all.

No.

I cannot give you your freedom.

Even The God you pushed away hasn't given you anything because YOU claim that you can do it all by yourself. The eyes that you use to see the world is a vicious one, you don't want to be unheard, to be ignored, to be unworshipped. YET, you don't want to be understood, because being understood means that we have found a way to connect with you--and for the first time, you have felt human. You don't want to be a human being, as far as you let us know.

The ESCAPE is so vast within you that you believe that the universe is yours, and that you believe that you are misunderstood because you are so smart the world doesn't understand you; but what if we do? What if inside, we can see you as a lonely, frustrated loser squashed into an environment that you have to feel hostile with.

I cannot give you everything.

BECAUSE you are empty. Empty shells aren't meant to be filled, because they are hollow. You are the black hole in the vast, colorful universe, getting what you want from us. You destroy everything you touch. The boredom, anxiety, loneliness, frustrations, fear, anger, vengeance and paranoia reeks through your eyes that you are an EMPTY SHELL forever and ever. You trample our spirits just to feel you are better. We are not allowed to talk back because you are the KING, and we are your dominions. You talk in metaphors so nobody will understand you; but our "ignorance" tell otherwise... and everyone can see it, they just over interpret it and give dumb excuses for your kingship. Or your Abuse. Or your Words. Or your Intimidation.

You are a winner in body but desolate in soul.

I cannot give you my heart in exchange of your spiteful soul.

There's too much at risk.

Sincerely,
That Girl

POEMS with erors

POEMS with erors

I'm gonna going to written,
Verses and liness to smitten,
all peoples who wants to says something
Yet guts and thick skin they have nothing.


Dereliction of duties I don'ts cares,
especially in my subject-verb agrees-ment,
vocabularies is meant to ensnare.
Even ifs I talked shit, you'll have a pretend awareness.


Oh, didn't I TOLD you?
Petty word-ness are masks of senselessness
Like a smokes-screen effect of haters
under an DON'T-JUDGE-ME whiners.


*** this poem is unfinished because I realized that I have a next class. When I tried getting back, I'm already out of tangent. XP