Anain Bjorkquist September 16, 2009

good girls gone bad

Boys like to think that good girls gone bad originate from something that they might have done to the said girl but that’s NOT how good girls go bad. Good girls go bad slowly; takes a rotten apple to spoil the good in a girl. Apples never fall far from their trees so when they fall they usually fall in the shit that bred them.

I am often very elated that no female looks to me to learn how to be a woman. Women are great at hiding pain from men but women can’t hide pain from other women, especially not their daughters, no matter how pretty the facade. Like wounded animals flailing with fear in the ocean women in pain vibrate at a certain energy. A daughter can sense pain like a shark senses fear. It does not matter how much Mommy tries to conceal her tears, her daughter can feel her pain at a distance.

The daughter wears her mother’s pain…Emperor’s new clothes…

When you carry the pain of the mother there is no happiness for the daughter.

Good girl going bad one day at a time…way before any man can bite the forbidden fruit or say it will be alright because he won’t bite!

Good girl going bad running from her mother’s past only to find herself reading the same story.

Somehow kismet has brought back the entire previous cast. The stage is set.

“Mother pass me your script let me read your role again. I’m much better at the ad libs.”

Good girls start to go bad slowly as their mother’s pains teach them that not all that glitters in dreams is gold.

When you carry the pain of the mother your bags are always packed so no matter where or how far you go the load is always the same.

Good girl thought she was good enough and definitely smart enough to rock that fake Louis V baggage.

She’s gonna work it this time in higher stiletto heels…she won’t end up the same.

Yet, there she stands in the shit that bred her. There she stands wondering how to erase her DNA from the scene of this crime.

It was Mrs. Peacock in the kitchen not with the candlestick but with her tongue…souring the apple.

Anyone up for a little apple tart femme fatale?

God dammit she thought she wouldn’t get caught up…

Good girls go bad everyday not at the hands of men…we were bad from the moment we latched on the tit of a woman scorned and fed off her.

So, don’t kid yourselves boys…it was NEVER you…it was always mother!

© Anaín Bjorkquist September 16, 2009 ~ All Rights Reserved.

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