You’d think that Chuck and Blair were my best friends
in high school, how much they told me
what to do,
what I wanted,
right, wrong, relationships,
expectations, exceptions, assumptions.
How many of these straight couples have we seen on TV,
on the movie screen? You’d think watching the same story
would have tired us out by now…
but look at all those remakes!
“Boys will be boys” so let the playboys play,
let the Netflix episodes stream
with titles like: “Conquest 1: Anne.“
Do you pass the Bechdel test?
And yet, my mind relishes it!
3 hours of “Next Episode,” “Next Episode,” “Next
Episode” when I already know what’s coming.
Come on, socialized females—
we were taught to savor it,
to be silent, to watch
this brunette pair with pretty faces,
there is no grace here
when I’m still second class
there is no grace here
I think I’ll have to pass
and yet I’ve watched for 10,000 hours
officially a master
how many minutes have we been feeding
ourselves
this
shit?
The sexist disguised as the best friend,
the feminist disguised as the loser, the bitch.
“Paint it black,” Mick said,
so maybe we should scrap the painting
if I’m still quoting advice from the tomb
we are buried in, white male words
we are covered in.
To carry Chuck and Blair’s
abbreviations, hallucinations…
It’s heavy. It’s hard.
They taught me it’s okay if he leads me on;
I should wait. I should want it.
They taught me it’s okay if he looks at me
sideways, smirks, and moves on;
I should be flattered. I am top dog.
They taught me I should love a “he.”
Here’s a scrap, dear women.
Here’s a slice of the loaf you asked for.
Now, why aren’t you happy?
Why do you keep talking?
‘Cause we’re human.
‘Cause we’re hungry.
Damn hungry.
At the end of the day, my adolescent self watched Gossip Girl, idolized Chuck and Blair, and part of my heart still loves them. And that’s the point.
October 29, 2019