so one time this asshole was harassing my friend and he gave her a note that said “hey pretty wanna date me? yes: smile no: backflip” and like the fucking badass she is and because she’s a gymnast, she got up and did a fucking backflip in the middle of class
Yes. I’m a cheerleader. And yes I wear that uniform and I flip and I fly and I jump and I kick.But I’m not stupid.
When I joined this squad, team, family, cult, whatever you call it, I had an identity. And no I was not known for my femininity, but with this I had found serenity, And embraced it with the entirety of my entity. But I joined that squad cult team family, whatever, and suddenly I was sexy. And my name went from Alexis to Lexie, and apparently, I got stupid.
As long as I looked good in a skirt, made sure I was a semi-good flirt, and talked plenty of dirt, I was the perfect…whore.
No one cared that I spent months learning choreo, sprained both ankles while tumbling or popped out me knee jumping.
They didn’t know the courage it took to throw a girl in the air and hope she landed in my arms, and not on my face - again.
No one understood the discipline it took to do it one more time. And by one more time, I mean until its perfect. We don’t want to be at practice all the time, but we are, working harder than ever to prove you wrong.
Because despite your accusations, we’ll go far. We are strong (I pick up more chicks in a day than you do in a week) and we are smart - knowledge is our refuge.
And no, we are not the stereotype you are looking for. We are the brand new definition.
Let me put it this way. There’s only one time when you can say what we do is easy. And time will come when you can stunt jump and tumble like me.
You can call me stupid, as long as you learn a new routine in under a week first. And you can call me untalented, after you do a triple toe touch balanced out with a back tuck and a smile. Oh, and your toes better be pointed.
You can call me whore because of what I wear to cheer in and I won’t care. Because my clothes don’t define me. And if they do, then your clothes define you too and I’d swear you still live with your mother and she dresses you.
My sport does not define me. If I’m vapid because I cheer…you the football player, have like, totes nothing between your like, ears!
And if you want to judge me, remember it takes a brain to do I what I do. It doesn’t require one to conform to society’s lame-ass train of thought. I am not stupid, I am not slutty, and believe it or not, I am not popular. I do not cheer for the uniform, I cheer for the life style.
I am smart, I believe in love, and I am pissed because the world makes it so god damn hard to do the thing I love.
So here’s to brilliance and cheerleaders. Because often, they go hand in hand.