I don’t fit the mold. You judge me, and you’re lost.
There’s many components to a person, and assuming won’t hint to
one. Research and analysis, they teach it in school. Use it as your
tool. However life requires opened minds. Closed minds are waste
dumps. Stereotypes give off junk.
Stereotypes exist for a reason, like how white girls like me tend to throw our right hand in the air, clutch purse hanging desperately from our wrist, eyes closed, hair tossed aside, when dancing in the bar.
Beneath one simple word lies the power to change perceptions.
Perceptions changed by simple words leave the world rife with judgement.
A world rife with judgement is no place to live.
I am not who you think I am. I am not a classic white girl who only cares about her iPhone 5. No, I am so much more and I can’t be defined by my skin color or class.
Because I write. And start sentences with conjunctions. Often.
What do you think of stereotypes? Are they real or not? How would you know if they are? So hard to understand sometimes. Stereotype is kind of like gossips which are not sure if you have to believe them or not. They are like riddles, metaphor or puzzles.
They make us confused. Whatsoever, they are there. Up for grabs or not. Your choice. Your stereotype.
It was strange, how when anyone saw her, they knew her before she’d even opened her mouth. She was dark. Strange. Lonely. Troubled. On drugs. In truth, she was none of those things. Well, no more than anyone else.
Stereotypes…. There is a hell of a lot of them out there. I don’t really think one can go through life without believing at least one of the many stereotypes. Writing with music is hard at the moment. Haha….
“Don’t stereotype him! He might not be gay!” cried Lorraine, looking indeed very offended after the comment was made.
“But he is gay,” Shawn protested. “He has a boyfriend. They went to homecoming together.”
“You don’t know that! They might be BFFs!”
“BFFs who make out behind the cardboard cut-out of John Travolta, then?” sneered Chris, though she still winced at the thought of our homecoming dance being disco-themed.
It’s so awful to use a stereotype. It’s like being a bully and getting offended at the same time. People just aren’t built to hear words and not react to them. It’s completely normal to freak out when you hear words. You should probably freak out when you read too. That’s evolution.
He tried to buck the stereotypes, to present an appearance that gave people a different impression to what they would normally assume on meeting him, but there are only so many ways you can make an impression on people when your name is Cinderella.
The girl in the mirror stares back at me, and she is nothing like she is supposed to be. Too short, too plain, too heavy. There are hairs that should be perfectly styled and in-line that go everywhere and anywhere, no matter how I try to control them. Nothing is perfect, nothing is right. I wonder how the girls in the magazines do it.
she had never thought stereotypes were good. actually they seemed kind of dumb. but she realized stereotypes made a lot of sense. after all, they wouldn’t be stereotypes if they didn’t happen.
A jock landing down in Atlanta proceedes out of his airline with a parade of whores surround him with greygoose and pom-poms. In four minutes he will already recieve a pay raise before he is even signed.
I’ve heard far too much about stereotypes in high school to actually believe them, but as I walked through the large doors into the gaping stomach of the school, I felt as though I’d walked into one of those awful old disney movies with the football players and the cheerleaders who only wore their uniforms all day and didn’t own any normal clothing.
Ricky Nelson was stereotyped as the singing boy next door and when he went to Madison Square Gardens and performed new material he was booed off the stage. Then he wrote about it and had a hit record, Garden Party.
I am not one. I am open. Free. Me. I am nice. I am bitchy. I am strong. I am feminine. I am a tomboy. I am everything all in one. A nice package of even. All in one. Stereotype if for the closed-minded. The people who don’t care to get to know who I am. The real me. The grace inside.
My mother thinks I should be the stereotype of what she
wants me to be nevermind the fact that I am not a projection of her
wishes but a living breathing thinking feeling “piece of
shit”
It’s just a stereotype. It’s just a stereotype. That’s what I muttered to myself as I glanced behind my shoulder to see someone following me. To their credit, they were doing a decent job. But he was big and burly and full of nothing friendly.
painful painful painful stereotypes keep us all thinking and saying stupid things about each other. some of us are too embarrassed to acknowledge that some stereotypes are rooted in observed behavior. in other words, perhaps there’s a little bit of truth to them. but that doesn’t mean we can’t change those things.
…and, as the victorious knight stripped off their helm to reveal a head full of long ebony hair and one of the sweetest, most feminine faces ever seen, effectively shattering every stereotype Adala had ever heard about warriors – especially from the Northern clans – she couldn’t help but stare at what had to be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
Prince Declan, it seemed, had no such reservations. “What is your name, good ser?”
The warrior smiled, revealing a mouth full of perfect white teeth. “Nira, majesty. Of Clan Mirali,”
Adala was barely able to bite back her gasp; this wasn’t a beautiful man…it was a beautiful WOMAN.
They fit their forms and cast shadows long
some of which aren’t even real
but we spy them straight face to face
and the vagueness lifts from the keyhole door
I put them people in boxes, neat and tabbed
with colourful stick-it notes for quick judgement
so that my time is straight and when we settle the score
I only need see them cast their shadows long
from the lookout of my keyhole door
Stereotypes define everything. When we see a person, we do not see them, but we see their labels. We see the jokes about their labels. Real people do not exist in the world, real people are not heard.
It is everything and everywhere. It takes a hold of the best and the worst and can ruin both. It is true and false, it is a contradiction. It is said to be reality but in actuality it is not. Stereotypes are a facade.
Oops there goes the neighbor hood. Once those pink rectangles move in they will steal your stuff and convert your children. Make my words. They are no good I tell ya. No good! Ssssh, quite down here they come. Hello sir how are you?
I never thought I’d conform to a stereotype, but as if on cue, I reach 45 and overnight morph into a grumpy, overweight and slightly achy old fart, who can still recall the vestiges of youth, possibly the cause of the aforementioned grumpiness.
Heartblinks and Stereohearts/
“My heart’s a stereo
It beats for you, so listen close
Hear my thoughts in every no-o-o-te
Make me your radio
And turn me up when you feel low
This melody was meant for you
Just sing along to my stereo”
//GymClassHeroes
I cant stand when people stereotype.
I get stereotyped because I listen to metal music.
But I don’t dress metal or goth or anything.
In fact I dress preppy, but I love metal music. Not screamo, but metal.
Volbeat, avenged sevenfold, papa roach, etc etc etc.
And I either get stereotyped as a bad person because I listen to metal or a prep for dressing classy and preppy.
Holy moly I don’t know ahahhaha.
Stereotypes, huh? Well I tell you what, the only stereotype I ever fit into is the “weird” one. Otherwise known as “other”. I don’t really fit in anywhere, even with the other Weirds. I feel like they’re putting it on half the time, you know. Being weird, I mean. So that they can fit into their own little Weird group. I don’t even know where to start being their kind of weird. Being weird on the outside just isn’t the same as me, being weird through and through.
Then again, there’s also the Proper Weirds. They’re like me – they don’t even fit into the Weird groups of their years. But unlike me I think they will probably turn out to be murderers or something.
What?
I’m not judging them or anything… (I am, but shh)
Seriously, though, some of them are Proper Weird, hence the name. They look at you and you get a chill. Then again, I guess they might think the same of me haha…
Maybe I’m a Proper Weird too, but I just don’t know it? Maybe I’ll be the one who turns around and murders everyone one day. Then I’d feel stupid for thinking they were weirdos. Then again, maybe I’ll just not feel stupid at all.
I’ll think I’m a super genius out to create a beautiful world free of stereotypes!
Freedom will reign free! … Or something, I don’t know. I’m no poet.
So yeah.
That’s me.
Weird.
try to escape the stereotypes. dont be a poor copy of what people think you should be. be yourself, no matter what nationality, looks, identity you might have. stereotypes suck. theyre not worth anything.
walking had always been more difficult than sticking a needle through my bare flesh. id rather stare at the blood race down my dry neglected skin a thousand times and stare as my dna traces my every outline and watch it seep through the indents and the pores. a visible mark to prove to those around me that i am alive not a demerit. while you watch with that naked eye asking me to abide to the rules that you inherit. how well did i know that i was alive. time passed me by & the blood became dark and dry, didn’t i realize that this was not for me, the sunshine, i mean. each step as loud as a drum when i hear the sound of your tongue burn words through my wounded flesh, im asking you to look through this stereotype of a mental illness that seems to possess my thoughts as i swim through this lagoon you call a pond while i try to fish for my sanity with a net. although it might be bigger than anette the whale. im struggling.. can’t you tell.
That doesn’t bother me anymore. Think of me what you will. I know what I am capable of, what heights I can go to, the grand things I’m capable of doing. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m not here to prove myself to anyone who doesn’t believe in me from the jump. It really doesn’t bother me anymore.
“He’s not swishy.” Carly quipped. Glenn gave her a sideways look. “Swishy?” Isn’t that a stereotype? “I mean, you’re not saying that all gay men are a certain type are you?” “Because that would definitely be a stereotype.” Carly looked down for a minute and muttered, “No, I guess not.” “I guess I don’t want him to be gay because I kind of have a crush on him.” Glenn smiled and chuckled a bit. “I know, it’s obvious.”
I don’t fit the mold. You judge me, and you’re lost.
There’s many components to a person, and assuming won’t hint to
one. Research and analysis, they teach it in school. Use it as your
tool. However life requires opened minds. Closed minds are waste
dumps. Stereotypes give off junk.
Stereotypes exist for a reason, like how white girls like me tend to throw our right hand in the air, clutch purse hanging desperately from our wrist, eyes closed, hair tossed aside, when dancing in the bar.
Beneath one simple word lies the power to change perceptions.
Perceptions changed by simple words leave the world rife with judgement.
A world rife with judgement is no place to live.
I am not who you think I am. I am not a classic white girl who only cares about her iPhone 5. No, I am so much more and I can’t be defined by my skin color or class.
Because I write. And start sentences with conjunctions. Often.
What do you think of stereotypes? Are they real or not? How would you know if they are? So hard to understand sometimes. Stereotype is kind of like gossips which are not sure if you have to believe them or not. They are like riddles, metaphor or puzzles.
They make us confused. Whatsoever, they are there. Up for grabs or not. Your choice. Your stereotype.
and she was held up to a standard to which she didn’t belong because people can be pretty damn stupid.
and they were held up to a standard to which they didn’t
belong because people are fucking stupid…
It was strange, how when anyone saw her, they knew her before she’d even opened her mouth. She was dark. Strange. Lonely. Troubled. On drugs. In truth, she was none of those things. Well, no more than anyone else.
Stereotypes…. There is a hell of a lot of them out there. I don’t really think one can go through life without believing at least one of the many stereotypes. Writing with music is hard at the moment. Haha….
“Don’t stereotype him! He might not be gay!” cried Lorraine, looking indeed very offended after the comment was made.
“But he is gay,” Shawn protested. “He has a boyfriend. They went to homecoming together.”
“You don’t know that! They might be BFFs!”
“BFFs who make out behind the cardboard cut-out of John Travolta, then?” sneered Chris, though she still winced at the thought of our homecoming dance being disco-themed.
Sucks away the beauty of a person place or thing, suffocating it in a box with no air holes and then mocking it for its lack of life.
It’s so awful to use a stereotype. It’s like being a bully and getting offended at the same time. People just aren’t built to hear words and not react to them. It’s completely normal to freak out when you hear words. You should probably freak out when you read too. That’s evolution.
He tried to buck the stereotypes, to present an appearance that gave people a different impression to what they would normally assume on meeting him, but there are only so many ways you can make an impression on people when your name is Cinderella.
The girl in the mirror stares back at me, and she is nothing like she is supposed to be. Too short, too plain, too heavy. There are hairs that should be perfectly styled and in-line that go everywhere and anywhere, no matter how I try to control them. Nothing is perfect, nothing is right. I wonder how the girls in the magazines do it.
she had never thought stereotypes were good. actually they seemed kind of dumb. but she realized stereotypes made a lot of sense. after all, they wouldn’t be stereotypes if they didn’t happen.
A jock landing down in Atlanta proceedes out of his airline with a parade of whores surround him with greygoose and pom-poms. In four minutes he will already recieve a pay raise before he is even signed.
I’ve heard far too much about stereotypes in high school to actually believe them, but as I walked through the large doors into the gaping stomach of the school, I felt as though I’d walked into one of those awful old disney movies with the football players and the cheerleaders who only wore their uniforms all day and didn’t own any normal clothing.
Ricky Nelson was stereotyped as the singing boy next door and when he went to Madison Square Gardens and performed new material he was booed off the stage. Then he wrote about it and had a hit record, Garden Party.
I am not one. I am open. Free. Me. I am nice. I am bitchy. I am strong. I am feminine. I am a tomboy. I am everything all in one. A nice package of even. All in one. Stereotype if for the closed-minded. The people who don’t care to get to know who I am. The real me. The grace inside.
My mother thinks I should be the stereotype of what she
wants me to be nevermind the fact that I am not a projection of her
wishes but a living breathing thinking feeling “piece of
shit”
call her what you will, whatever label you chose. she knows the truth though. she is & will always be … rad-ass bitchin’.
It’s just a stereotype. It’s just a stereotype. That’s what I muttered to myself as I glanced behind my shoulder to see someone following me. To their credit, they were doing a decent job. But he was big and burly and full of nothing friendly.
painful painful painful stereotypes keep us all thinking and saying stupid things about each other. some of us are too embarrassed to acknowledge that some stereotypes are rooted in observed behavior. in other words, perhaps there’s a little bit of truth to them. but that doesn’t mean we can’t change those things.
call her what you will, whatever label you chose. she knows the truth thought – she’s never been anything other than rad-ass bitchin’.
She was no longer theirs to possess and mold with, she no longer fit in their socially generalized shape.
…and, as the victorious knight stripped off their helm to reveal a head full of long ebony hair and one of the sweetest, most feminine faces ever seen, effectively shattering every stereotype Adala had ever heard about warriors – especially from the Northern clans – she couldn’t help but stare at what had to be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
Prince Declan, it seemed, had no such reservations. “What is your name, good ser?”
The warrior smiled, revealing a mouth full of perfect white teeth. “Nira, majesty. Of Clan Mirali,”
Adala was barely able to bite back her gasp; this wasn’t a beautiful man…it was a beautiful WOMAN.
Aiden was the All American kid in high school. I say that with no sense of irony.
They fit their forms and cast shadows long
some of which aren’t even real
but we spy them straight face to face
and the vagueness lifts from the keyhole door
I put them people in boxes, neat and tabbed
with colourful stick-it notes for quick judgement
so that my time is straight and when we settle the score
I only need see them cast their shadows long
from the lookout of my keyhole door
But with this narrow view, the way is empty.
Stereotypes define everything. When we see a person, we do not see them, but we see their labels. We see the jokes about their labels. Real people do not exist in the world, real people are not heard.
Crossing the station
Paths never met
He and her lonely
hearts victims of theft.
A red rose on her tank top
A sports jacket he sports.
two joyous stereotypes
alone in their heads.
One works for business, the other stays
at home, both joyous stereotypes
are up to
much good.
One comes home
and dinner is served
roast beef and red beats
delicious and obscure.
How was your day
she states
sitting silently
at the dinner table
He puts his cooking
apron down
on the stove
“quiet”
It is everything and everywhere. It takes a hold of the best and the worst and can ruin both. It is true and false, it is a contradiction. It is said to be reality but in actuality it is not. Stereotypes are a facade.
Oops there goes the neighbor hood. Once those pink rectangles move in they will steal your stuff and convert your children. Make my words. They are no good I tell ya. No good! Ssssh, quite down here they come. Hello sir how are you?
I never thought I’d conform to a stereotype, but as if on cue, I reach 45 and overnight morph into a grumpy, overweight and slightly achy old fart, who can still recall the vestiges of youth, possibly the cause of the aforementioned grumpiness.
Heartblinks and Stereohearts/
“My heart’s a stereo
It beats for you, so listen close
Hear my thoughts in every no-o-o-te
Make me your radio
And turn me up when you feel low
This melody was meant for you
Just sing along to my stereo”
//GymClassHeroes
I cant stand when people stereotype.
I get stereotyped because I listen to metal music.
But I don’t dress metal or goth or anything.
In fact I dress preppy, but I love metal music. Not screamo, but metal.
Volbeat, avenged sevenfold, papa roach, etc etc etc.
And I either get stereotyped as a bad person because I listen to metal or a prep for dressing classy and preppy.
Holy moly I don’t know ahahhaha.
Stereotypes, huh? Well I tell you what, the only stereotype I ever fit into is the “weird” one. Otherwise known as “other”. I don’t really fit in anywhere, even with the other Weirds. I feel like they’re putting it on half the time, you know. Being weird, I mean. So that they can fit into their own little Weird group. I don’t even know where to start being their kind of weird. Being weird on the outside just isn’t the same as me, being weird through and through.
Then again, there’s also the Proper Weirds. They’re like me – they don’t even fit into the Weird groups of their years. But unlike me I think they will probably turn out to be murderers or something.
What?
I’m not judging them or anything… (I am, but shh)
Seriously, though, some of them are Proper Weird, hence the name. They look at you and you get a chill. Then again, I guess they might think the same of me haha…
Maybe I’m a Proper Weird too, but I just don’t know it? Maybe I’ll be the one who turns around and murders everyone one day. Then I’d feel stupid for thinking they were weirdos. Then again, maybe I’ll just not feel stupid at all.
I’ll think I’m a super genius out to create a beautiful world free of stereotypes!
Freedom will reign free! … Or something, I don’t know. I’m no poet.
So yeah.
That’s me.
Weird.
try to escape the stereotypes. dont be a poor copy of what people think you should be. be yourself, no matter what nationality, looks, identity you might have. stereotypes suck. theyre not worth anything.
walking had always been more difficult than sticking a needle through my bare flesh. id rather stare at the blood race down my dry neglected skin a thousand times and stare as my dna traces my every outline and watch it seep through the indents and the pores. a visible mark to prove to those around me that i am alive not a demerit. while you watch with that naked eye asking me to abide to the rules that you inherit. how well did i know that i was alive. time passed me by & the blood became dark and dry, didn’t i realize that this was not for me, the sunshine, i mean. each step as loud as a drum when i hear the sound of your tongue burn words through my wounded flesh, im asking you to look through this stereotype of a mental illness that seems to possess my thoughts as i swim through this lagoon you call a pond while i try to fish for my sanity with a net. although it might be bigger than anette the whale. im struggling.. can’t you tell.
That doesn’t bother me anymore. Think of me what you will. I know what I am capable of, what heights I can go to, the grand things I’m capable of doing. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m not here to prove myself to anyone who doesn’t believe in me from the jump. It really doesn’t bother me anymore.
“He’s not swishy.” Carly quipped. Glenn gave her a sideways look. “Swishy?” Isn’t that a stereotype? “I mean, you’re not saying that all gay men are a certain type are you?” “Because that would definitely be a stereotype.” Carly looked down for a minute and muttered, “No, I guess not.” “I guess I don’t want him to be gay because I kind of have a crush on him.” Glenn smiled and chuckled a bit. “I know, it’s obvious.”