Taylor Swift... Add Her To The Poo List

Disney, children’s dance studios, Santa,
medicated child birth, Hannah Montana, high school musical....(list could really
go on) but you know what else we can put on my rip my eyes out and pluck at my
ear drums till they explode if I ever have to see or hear this again list...
Taylor Swift! I really cannot stand her music, never have! When I usually tell
people this their jaws drop (I have that effect) well I finally found
someone who feels the same way that I do. Now I was going to write a blog about
her and why I think she should stick to just being pretty...or whatever else
she does but I decided that I would post a blog that I found on a friend of
mines blog. Evidently she feels the EXACT same way i do and says exactly what I
wanted to only better. her name is Camille and she is an amazingly funny,
honest and clever writer. I completely stalk her page

http://www.archiveslives.com/?p=5465

and yes I have her permission to
post this off her page

I realize I am
putting myself in great peril by announcing my unpopular feelings toward Taylor
Swift in front of the whole world.  However, this blog would not be my
blog if I withheld from you, dear readers.  I always blog about subjects I
feel passionately toward, and this is no different; I am passionate in my
distaste for Taylor Swift’s lyrics.

Now.
Before I continue, I would like to note that she seems like a very nice
person.  She is lovely, for sure, and I’ve heard that she is very
genuinely sweet.  That’s fine.  I’m not saying I hate her as a human
being, or even as a singer—I actually think she has a striking voice.  But
her lyrics—her teeny-bopper-stereotypical-clichéd-redundant-female-oppressing
lyrics—make me want to claw my eardrums out with splintery toothpicks, if only
to make them stop bouncing around in my brain.

See, I don’t
think Taylor Swift gives herself enough credit.  Her songs portray her as
a girl whose entire
sense of being is wrapped up in whether or not a boy likes her at
any given moment.  And that is a quality I cannot respect in a woman.

Here is a
sample of some of her arguably most annoying lyrics:

…That I can’t
even see anyone when he’s with me… [Why not, is his brilliance so bright it has
blinded you?  That's a pity.]

…He’s the song
in the car I keep singing, don’t know why I do…  [Trust me---I'm wondering
the same thing.  If you don't know why you keep singing, maybe you should
stop.]

…Drew walks by
me, can he tell that I can’t breathe?…  [Not being able to breathe because
of Drew?  I could see being breathless at the sight of the Grand Canyon,
or God, but a pimply-faced teenage boy in your homeroom class who, for the
record, doesn't even know you exist?  That's just silly.]

…Romeo, save
me, I’ve been feeling so alone, I keep waiting for you but you never
come…  [That's because he never will.  Save yourself.]

…But she wears
short skirts, I wear T-shirts

She’s Cheer Captain and I’m on the bleachers

Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find

That what you’re looking for has been here the whole time… [But will you really
want to be with him after he's ignored you all this time?]

It disgusts me,
and it’s not just her lyrics, either—it’s the central theme in all her videos,
too.  In the music video for her song “White Horse,” for example, she apologizes
to her cheating boyfriend for not being able to forgive him.  And then she
spends three-quarters of the movie sitting on the floor weeping about it.

That was the
last straw for me.

YOU’RE
SORRY?  He’s the bastard who cheated on you; you have nothing to be sorry
for!  Moreover, why are you sitting there SOBBING about it?  He’s
obviously a jerk, and you have so much going for you!  You do not need
him.  I repeat: YOU do NOT NEED HIM to be happy.

That’s the
thing about Taylor Swift’s songs—they’re all about boys.  Nice boys, mean
boys, dream boys, imaginary boys.  It’s a bit excessive.  Every time
one of her songs comes on the satellite radio in Poor Kyle’s truck, I listen to
the words and invariably come to the same conclusion: “This girl needs to learn
who SHE is, aside from the influence of boys.”  For example: she talks
about princesses in a lot of her songs, which is fine.  If she wants to be
a princess (I can’t blame her), by all means, be a princess—but why does she
talk about being a princess only in relation to the handsome young princes who
she hopes will come rescue her and make all her dreams come true?  Doesn’t
she know that she should make her OWN dreams come true?  That she has the
power to do that all by herself?  Hasn’t anybody ever told her that?

No, obviously
not.  Because according to Taylor swift, who sings, “Well, I’m only me
when I’m with you,” she is only herself when she is with a boy.

I firmly
believe that girls need to know who they are, apart from boys.  I know
about being boy-crazy; I know about being a teenage girl (it wasn’t long ago I
was one) who wishes that someone would just come along and hold my hand and
make me happy.  I know that—I struggled with that from the age of twelve
or thirteen to the time I was sixteen.  Luckily for me, I was able to
eventually break free from those ridiculous notions of “Gee, if only I had a
boyfriend, I would be happy,” and learned to think, “I am happy to be me, and
any guy would be lucky to date me.”

It’s not that I
don’t believe in love or romance.  It’s just that I know I can live
without it.  I maintain that I am actually a better partner to my husband
because of this belief.  Sure, sometimes I feel sad because of things he
does (like consistently failing to place his dirty socks in the hamper), but my
overarching happiness is up to me.  If he ever gets a hankering to be with
a younger, lovelier woman, it would be his loss.  Not mine.  I might
be sad for a long time, but I know that eventually, because I knew who I was
before I ever even met him, I know I would still have my self to cling
to.  He does not have the power to make me a sad person.  Only I have that power

And that’s why,
when Taylor Swift sings, “I’m only me when I’m with you,” I change the radio to
another station.  Poor Kyle hates when I do that, but I don’t know what
else to do.