STORY OF A LITTLE BLUE GIRL

Hey Blue what happened to you? I see you a little down. And I no longer see your beautiful hair that looked good with any color, where did your smiles and laughter go little Blue? What did all these people do to you to reduce you like this. Why are you crying? Indeed, the correct question is: why have you never stopped crying? Because you recognize yourself more when you suffer, instead of taking them and killing all those who trample you. Who don't know Blu what you felt, they don't know. They don't know what it's like to get up on your own. They don't know what it's like to be alone. You yes. And you are very good because with others you never collapse, you know how to console yourself and you know how to laugh alone. You are strong, and everyone tells you how strong you can be. They tell you this especially before they break you, but you never break. You just cry, and people often can't stand it, but you just want someone to stay there. Watch yourself and say nothing. But Blue is not easy. In this life no one has time for anyone anymore and you are tired of having a phone in your hand to be able to communicate with people. You want a real shoulder, you want someone to take your pain with their bare hands and throw it away. You are looking for love because you have never known it and you do not know what it really is like. All consequences of a tragic past that you don't even remember, if you knew maybe you wouldn't be like that. Maybe you would be like all 20-year-olds who go around the clubs to dance. But you don't dance, because whoever dances is happy, you just move your hip to provoke any man. You seek attention, you look for eyes that are always pointed towards you, but the eyes are not always the mirror of the heart. The bottle of vodka you are drinking no longer even has a taste for you, it doesn't taste like peach or mint or strawberry, it just tastes like a cage that for a few moments doesn't let out thoughts and doesn't make you feel sad. But I know the truth, I know you would tell your whole life if people asked you, but you never really do it. You don't do it for a good reason, people are too normal compared to you and you've been told too many times that you are weird, that you are wrong, that you are different. You are not and you would have tons

THE CAGE

I always keep myself so consistent with my words, too! As if my words were my thoughts, unique and immobile. It’s like saying things out loud, or writing them (to anyone), locks me in a cage. From that moment on, I can’t get rid of the terrible thought that by doing something that (even if only apparently) contradicts what I said, it makes me attackable, because I hate it, I mean being attacked, even if I knew how to defend myself, I avoid doing it, I don’t have I never stimulate him to do so, and so I let things slip away, I laugh, I always laugh. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve ever had a real laugh, but real seriously I mean! Laughing has become the alternative to everything: getting angry, screaming, talking, crying, and who knows how much else … The cage that I have now doesn’t let you see much light, it’s so thick and dark, ah, if at least it were colored! Instead it is black, very black. I am imprisoned with my words, which I have reserved for a few, but even those few should not have made me speak, because words do not bounce off certain people, but are absorbed by them, I cannot get this idea out of my head and tortures me. I don’t want to talk to anyone anymore, I don’t want to feel the need anymore, which is already a very small need, but I still often give in! If I really want freedom, I have to be alone with myself, I have to escape from anyone and anything, to find an isolated but beautiful place, all mine but nobody’s. And instead this miserable existence of mine will continue in the worst of the chessboards, and I will always be on the corner, ignored, but I will always feel in the center, derided and observed, unable to move, motionless and sad.

I WAS A TOMBOY

The trouble is this. See how life goes. You see that working does not bring happiness. Not even love gives happiness. Neither are friendships. And neither does the money. So what’s the use of all this play? Adaptation to society. From an early age they tell us that we are here and we must do as they tell us to do. And we all to obey. Whoever escapes is lost. Lost or free? Boh. Freedom always has a price. But in the meantime we are in a cage like lions and have to be content with this stupid survival? I am tired. I have been protesting for many years, since high school, and giving advice through my blog, but I see that very few people are interested. They also don’t even know what zero waste is. Especially young people who use the web are not interested in things related to the climate. Or they say they do but then buy items that produce non-recyclable waste. I grew up in a family where my parents tried to reuse anything.
I’m italian. I used to dress like a boy until I was 22. I had been abused at 4 years old. So I didn’t accept my female body. I wanted to be a boy because I was afraid of being raped again. This fear caused a lot of shame in me. I always covered my breasts. I crushed it. I didn’t want to have a female body because I knew that men only love it as an object to own. Many years have passed and I am very different. I have long hair, I wear makeup and I always dress like a woman. But men have not changed at all.

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