Tonight my heart is filled with hope and excitement. Kind encouraging words have made me doubt my ability a little less. And I feel excited over what kind of adventures the writing assignments will lead me into.
Tonight’s Saturday song is Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray.
A song someone sent to me because they thought about me listening to it. At the time I felt both flattered and quite caught out. Did I really seem so depressed and struggling? I guess at the time I thought I did a better job hiding it. Then I realized how backwards hiding how I truly felt was, especially from someone who could read between the lines. So instead I got ugly honest about the darkness and received both some relief and a new friend by it.
Since then I’ve become much better off not habitually always hiding how I am. It’s not always easy, and has the sad side effect of showing who your real friends are. But all in all I now believe it’s a better way to live than the opposite.
I can also say it made me listen to Lana Del Ray and her poetic lyrics.
It’s unusual that a contemporary song has so much written about it, but looking up the lyrics and song links I stumbled upon several articles about it. Here’s two, one from Atwood Magazine and one from Story of Song.
Hope Is a Dangerous Thing for a Woman Like Me to Have – but I Have It by Lana Del Ray
I was reading Slim Aarons and I got to thinking that I thought Maybe I’d get less stressed if I was tested less like All of these debutantes Smiling for miles in pink dresses and high heels on white yachts But I’m not Baby, I’m not No, I’m not That, I’m not
I’ve been tearing around in my fucking nightgown 24/7 Sylvia Plath Writing in blood on the walls ‘Cause the ink in my pen don’t work in my notepad Don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not But, at best, I can say I’m not sad ‘Cause hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
I had fifteen-year dances Church basement romances, yeah, I’ve cried Spilling my guts with the Bowery Bums Is the only love I’ve ever known Except for the stage, which I also call home, when I’m not Servin’ up God in a burnt coffee pot for the triad Hello, it’s the most famous woman you know on the iPad Calling from beyond the grave, I just wanna say, “Hi, Dad”
I’ve been tearing up town in my fucking white gown Like a goddamn near sociopath Shaking my ass is the only thing that’s Got this black narcissist off my back She couldn’t care less, and I never cared more So there’s no more to say about that Except hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman with my past
There’s a new revolution, a loud evolution that I saw Born of confusion and quiet collusion of which mostly I’ve known A modern day woman with a weak constitution, ’cause I’ve got Monsters still under my bed that I could never fight off A gatekeeper carelessly dropping the keys on my nights off
I’ve been tearing around in my fucking nightgown 24/7 Sylvia Plath Writing in blood on your walls ‘Cause the ink in my pen don’t look good in my pad They write that I’m happy, they know that I’m not But, at best, you can see I’m not sad But hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have But I have it Yeah, I have it Yeah, I have it I have
Don’t react if they bully and tease. Turn your other cheek and say please. Don’t hit back! No one likes a girl who attacks. Don’t show you’re smarter than the boys. It will them only annoy. Don’t talk back to adults. Even if they are wrong it’s an insult. Don’t show you’re smarter than men. You’ll just be a bother again. Don’t speak up for anyone’s rights. They’ll just think you’re picking a fight. Don’t claim any self worth. What? Do you think it comes with birth? Don’t state your opinions. You’ll just get shun. Don’t stick out, it’ll break Jante’s law. Remember you’re just another bah, haha! Don’t pursue creative dreams. You might as well chase moonbeams. Don’t be a nuisance girl. Do you think you’re a precious pearl? Don’t be a disturbance. No one wants to see your brilliance.
Or.. Do the opposite of all that! Better be called a hellcat than live as a trampled doormat!
This ekphrastic challenge is more challenging than either GloPoWriMo or December’s Advent Calendar was. It is also changing how I write and work while writing. Which has produced some poems I’m proud of like Moonsea, Fall Maiden and State of Depression.
The weight off the world seems to lay on my shoulders. However-much I work against it. All old harmfull programming is in full force. Sending out censors and critics to tell me off for every not written to prompt, shame me every unanswered comment.
Some form of perfect storm. The pandemic and isolation. Me on the cusp of achievement. The step where I usually self-sabotage.