I’m inspired... what the fuck? (My intro to something) Can privalleged be used as an adjective for a color? And I don’t mean for race, you assuming ass. I mean for the color of my walls. The bright, vibrant, turquoise like shade that screams “my mommy and daddy have many secrets, but never divorced. I’m the poorest, affluent, tan, culturally confused girl you will ever meet. My teen angst developed when I started showcasing my freed, closet skeletons and, didn’t receive the negative reviews I clearly deserved. And, I’m self loathing but instead of fixing it; I parade around my problems and cry about my mild inconveniences.” Can the color of my room say that? The answer is simply “no.” Only I can verbalize that, lounged on my bed, indolently pressing the keys, sipping tea I settled for because my favorite is out, and just wanting to murder the almost, post pubescent girl that wanted this ugly, bright turquoise like-- not even turquoise (I had to be eccentric), color. You might ponder, “why write about the fucking color of your room?..There are people with more grievances than you and they don’t even gossip about what’s wrong. There are people writing great influential works of literature about things that matter; you’re on a rant about bullshit. And there are people who have already ranted about similar nonsense; our ears have bled and our eyes have wept… SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH.” Well my rebuttal to that is I'm inspired. Yup I know, what the fuck? And, my privilege that was handed to me by my forefathers tells me I'm entitled to my opinion. I'm entitled to complain about the color of my room in this format so I can illuminate how hypocritical, indecisive and contradictory I am to prove that I am really the assuming ass and, I'll prove it with my stories to follow.
