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Blonde

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I am not ditzy.

I do not have
hair dyed bleach blonde repeatedly.
I am not
a size double-0
size extra-small model
that needs waited on hand and foot constantly.
I am not seen
fleeting around the mall everyday,

clutching bags, Prada and Coach up to the brim,

with fresh manicured spidery long fake nails

and my Tiffany & Co. charm bracelet practically falling off my thin wrist.
I am not

a preppy, sun-kissed to perfection

volleyball player that lives in a place like California or Florida
I do not


break a sweat by doing something on my own for once.
I am not the one

to throw a fit anytime I don’t get what I want

when I want it.
I do not have


a confused look on my face,

having people repeat things multiple times.
I got what you said the first time.
I am not

what people assume, because
I am not
physically un-capable of running a mile in gym-class

because it will mess up my fresh blowout.
I am not
laughing constantly,

surrounded by a group of bleach blonde clones,

proudly bearing a branded barcode.
I do not

take pictures of my self every single second,

waiting for the absolute perfect profile picture

that I can upload instantly because my fancy phone has unlimited web access.
I am not

dripping in diamonds.
I am not

Daddy’s little princess.
I do not

turn my nose up at every person who I think is lesser than me.

I am not
materialistic,
skirt-so-short-you-can-almost-see-everything
preppy,
needy,
attention hog,

Barbie doll,

plastic and perfect.

Because I do make mistakes,
and I am made out of entirely human flesh.
and I am as pale as paper,
and I do not own a volleyball,
and my nails are so short that you can’t even see the white part,
and I don’t go to the mall every day.
I am happy with what I have,
and I will not throw a fit if you think any differently.





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