Girls like that, but not this

Had this song stuck in my head this afternoon. It was fun to sing along and dance to around the house. Totally embarrassed my kids (I didn’t, they’re used to this from me. I think they think it’s weird if I’m not flopping myself about like a manic puppet on PHP) by just dancing so very dorky pretending I’m the lead singer.

Since I’m just one of the guys, in my mind. But by my body and face, I’m a girl, a woman. I’m a woman, although I don’t think I’m very feminine.

I remember last year lamenting the inability to change my face so I may fit in with people. Not that I am disfigured or displeasing. I am just always the same and never anything else.

So my friend, I agree. Girls like that (the otherkin, the ones that are over there), girls like that don’t go for guys like us. Cause you and I are so much alike, we’re unlike the rest of this world. Heck, guys like us don’t even know how to strike a friendship with someone or anyone, so long as they have genitals, we’ll make it awkward. One that is without any creep which may be held as a striker quality.

Custard – Girls like that

Girls like that / Girls like that don’t go for guys like us / I still want to see the facts / But this time she’s serious / She says there’s too too many worlds / Too many worlds wrapped up in science fiction / Tiny boys and tiny girls / I may well live to regret this in the morning / For I am considering, a move to South America / To keep on lookin’ for that lovin’ feelin’ / I’ll keep on lookin’ for that lovin’ feelin’ / All of the chemists and witch doctors they know / What I’ll never ever know

2 thoughts on “Girls like that, but not this

  1. thecultofanne says:

    I didn’t know that song … or that band. It sounds like early Talking Heads. I suppose that dates me … hmm, forget I wrote that. I’m a classical musician, so beyond that and jazz, I’m not very well-versed, or at least up to date.

    I think that all of us are different people under the surface. I am many people underneath, and my outward appearance doesn’t begin to explain me. That might, to a certain extent explain why am photo-averse. You, too, have many guises, as I can see from your blogs and comments.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Kalliope says:

      I like the way I look, but I don’t like the way other people look at me. The way they see me. I am judged by my appearance and then held within their glass mason jar, as if I am a keepsake memory. But I’m not dead, I am alive and so thereby change all the time. To which I’m blamed for not remaining the same as some perfect vision that they assumed me to be. I can do one thing, and yet it is interpreted by others as being some other thing. And lo and behold, that one thing I thought I was doing turned out to be a myriad of other things according to the witnesses who think they witnessed anything. So I am then the liar? Because the appearance of the thing is the only thing that matters. Not what was done, what I did, what I meant, intended to affect whom or with…
      I’m a pretty picture, a spectacle portrait upon the walls of the hall of heroes. But little do they know that I am a shadow puppet, they see my silhouette, and all of a sudden I am the darkness that was binding them and withholding them from some shit or another. They look at me and smile and light up their eyes. But it’s not me that they see. I am a mirror to the soul. I am me, and my path is clear. I am a gate of glass, light and dark along the outside of the sphere. I’m everyone I wanted to be, and they were always someone else, never me.
      I hate what I see when I see me. But people seem to enjoy the vision they think they see when they look upon me.

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