Trust(ee) in Training

Women are trained to trust! As a gender, women most often get tarred and feathered as being emotional, naïve, and the silly ones in the relationship. There are a higher percentage of women who submit themselves to a life of doormat-ship and allow themselves to be washed, walked on, and eventually dusted off when they become too worn to be wanted anymore.

My theory is women are trained up to trust.

There are so many facets to the modern day woman that must be outsourced that women are simply trained to trust straight up strangers. Follow my train of thought here…

We trust our hairdressers, our nail technicians, our tailors, our friends (to tell us if we can pull off whatever dress/design without looking fat), our market vendors from whom we buy vegetables and meat, our fellow women (think bathroom breaks during sweaty clubbing sessions – “Do I look shiny?” “Is my make-up okay?” “Do you think its okay if I take my shoes off” *quite frankly NO* but I digress..). We trust our beauty supply store clerks to tell us if we can rinse the hair dye directly in or need to base it first. We trust the mirror, the Mac make-up technicians, the midwives, the E! stylists, the calorie counting magazine motivators, our mothers (to teach us how to cook sweet soup and serve it up the right way) and the list goes on.

We trust a plethora of people, most of whom we’ve only met moments before. Therefore is it not logical that we are easily inclined to trust someone that supposedly gives us a reason to? Someone who woos us and washes us with words we want to hear? Indeed! The fairytale framework is already set in place in our minds, so once the character hypothetically rides in on that proverbial white horse, we easily transfer the most important level of trust unto him. This my darlings is where the danger lurks. For this kind of trust can shatter the heart of she who bestows it without a second thought upon said object of interest.

So after being trained up to trust we must teach ourselves to master trust and invite some mistrust into our midst. After all the Miss with the most trust is usually left at a loss for most times blind trust does not pay off.

So hold back emotions, analyze situations critically, let it be earned rather than freely given. If he is sewing on your clothes feel free to let your feelings show, but if his sole goal is to strip them away you better make him wait. Build that relationship, for only transactions should be conducted with quickness, and even those could benefit from some skepticism.


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Kiss My mAke-Up

I sit and stare
I hope you’re there
Somewhere beneath this mask

I hope and pray
I wash away
And hope that you will last

Foundation’s hardly a foundation
Mascara doesn’t make my vision clear
The blush doesn’t provide the rush
Of the blood beckoned by a man’s touch

My eye shadow hides my eyes’ shadow
I’m tired but no one knows
Concealer is really a revealer
That my still waters are still shallow

No one can really see me
Under all this stuff
Yet still I pile on more
Hoping that it is enough

Today there was an E special
Talking about Brazilian weaves and lace fronts
I can’t really decide on which costume I really want

I want to go “natural”
Because it’s aesthetically deep
But every time I get before this mirror of mine
Its Mac and L’Oreal by the heap

The stars are airbrushed
And I don’t know how to keep up
So I dip every single brush
In hopes that I’ll measure up

They light up the night’s sky
And the eyes of the man I want
So I must weave my own Brazilian
And glue on my lace front

He wants a smaller waist
I remove the Biblical rib I was given
He wants rounder tits,
So the surgeon makes 2 more incisions

I don’t know by what I am driven
I seek not recognition or fame
I just want the average Joe
To see me as more than the average Jane

The pressure is immense
My caloric intake is on the rise
But my fear of a fat ass
Is imbedded in these Mickey D’s fries

So I swallow then I throw up
I digest and then I regurgitate
For the statistics echo in my head
As my up-chuck swirls on my plate

How can I be me?
When everyone else seeks to define who that is?
How can I be a size 12, when size 2 is the new 6?
Damn! Can you let a girl live?!

A pressure that’s all mine
Makes contentment impossible
A pressure that’s all the media’s
Makes self satisfaction implausible
So I reach out into the unknown
Fingernails firmly fixed on
Reaching for an image that’s trim and toned
A Halle Berry clone
Taking my place on the conveyor belt
Turning into a drone
Hoping to be churned out a Barbie
All paint and plastic – head to toe

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