> 😭 CONFESSION: Pipp responds to the scandalous allegations against her
>  by Pipp Petals
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> my secret 😖
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s me, Pipp Petals. And I have a confession to make. You may hate me forever after I tell you.

Okay, Pippsqueaks. Are you sitting down?

You’re not seated down? Well first, get a drink of water. You’re gonna need it.

It’s me, Pipp Petals. Maybe you wouldn’t have guessed by the mood I’m in right now. I feel a horrible sharp pain in my gut. It’s a horrible feeling. Like, the feeling I get when…

…I’m hanging on a wire. Alone.

Now, I just heard that there’s been some leaked footage of me in a rather embarrassing…position. Wearing certain…shall we say, accessories? And saying certain…words on camera. And before it starts going viral and rumors start flying, I want to set the record straight and tell you MY side of the story.

Okay. Here goes.

Oh but I can’t take it!

I…I’m a…

Oh I can’t say it! What will the children think—my children fans! The little Pippsqueaks! Pippsqueaks I’m so so sorry in advance. I hope you will forgive me for my sins and my lapses in judgement and my mistakes and you will keep buying my CDs.

I…I’m a…












I’m a…













…metalhead.

You saw the leaked footage. Of me jamming on the four-necked guitar. 

Oh I could’ve lied to you, and claimed that it was all the evil enchanted necklace that made me suddenly jam out glass-shattering metal music. I had such an easy out. But I want to be honest to you all. Too many lies have hurt our family already.



I’m not the perfect pony you think I am. And I’m not saying that just as a low-key humblebrag. This is a side of me that I've never shared with anypony else outside of mom and Zipp, that the royal castle staff hid well enough to keep it from the tabloids. And thank hoofness for that. Because if anyone is the first to leak the truth about me...it should be myself.

When I was a teenager, I was the problem child. 

Starting around when I was 12, I had a phase where…I read ghost stories. A lot of ghost stories. I painted my room black. I wore red color contacts. I dyed my mane all black. I watched things…that I maybe shouldn’t have as a teenager. I played the electric guitar until my hooves were too blistered to walk and Mom had to put me on antibiotics. I stayed out of the sun so much that Mom forced me to go to the doctor for Vitamin D deficiency. Yeah. I know. 

And you think I enjoyed being that way!? I hated my life. I yelled at everypony. Like, YELLED. I was just so mad at dinner everyday—there would be that grand dinner table in the castle that Mom forced to eat at every night at 7 sharp, with the three of us sitting around and the fourth chair empty. Quiet. Silence. And we all know why it’s quiet. And I’d just be mad. Just so mad I’d scream my 12-year-old lungs, bang on the table, and take the food to eat in my room.

And I’d hear Mom and Zipp whisper in the background as I left.

“Take no notice of her, Zephyrina. Tweenage mood swings. You were like that when you were her age.”

“I wasn’t, and you know it, Mom,” Zipp said.

“Sis, wait!” Zipp, bless her heart, ran after me. “Pipp. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t any of our fault. I know how mad you must feel…”

“NO YOU DON’T!!” And I’d yell some cuss words at Zipp that I definitely learned off the internet, and cover my horribly-done black eyeliner with my disgusting black-dyed mane. 

(I’m sorry, Zipp. I’m sorry, Mom.)

And I’d go to my room and I’d write and play songs. 

Metal songs. 

Hundreds of hours worth of the most cringy teenage angst you'll ever listen to. And I thought I was so good at it. Listening to some of my old recordings, my metal songs were actually pretty bad, LOL!



I used to think that I never wanted to revisit those days anymore. It was a sad time for me, after all. Not cringe—although I was pretty cringe for sure. But sad. Like, I wanna travel back in time and give my 12-year-old angsty self a big hug kinda sad. Cause my therapist already explained what my metal phase meant.

I remember the first time Mom sent me to see her, when I was 13.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a coping mechanism to deal with painful memories,” she said. “It must be difficult, having to lose your father at your age." 

"I guess." I remember I rolled my eyes and my red color contacts shifted.

"So tell me again why you...enjoy playing metal...?"

"Cause it's about death and stuff."

"And why is that enjoyable to you?"

"Well, when you sing metal you scream like you're dying. It's called the death growl. And I play in my room the dark. Like it must be inside the coffin. With a blanket over my head so it's hard to breathe and also so I don't bother Zipp sleeping next door. Maybe if I do all that enough, I'll be closer to death while still in this body. And I'll be closer to dad. Cause he's dead too."

Yeah 13-year-old me didn't understand how basic biology worked. So cringe, that's why I still remember every word of that day. Nothing against my therapist, she's lovely, like yay for mental health, but the way she dealt with my cringy bullshit so calmly, like...she doesn't get paid enough, amirite?

"Seems like you valued your relationship with your dad very much," my underpaid therapist said. "Was he like a best friend to you?”

“No. I hate dad. He did it to himself, you know? So it’s his fucking fault. It's his fault the dinner table for four has an empty chair now. My guitar is my best friend.” I hugged it.

“And what do you like about your guitar?”

“It can perform songs. Dad couldn’t even carry a tune. Let alone his own life.”

“Could you and your guitar perform a song for me?”

And I remember, I still remember this, I pulled my mane aside, and for the first time in probably like a week, I saw light. Without a single strand of fringe blocking my face. It was this dim orange sconce next to the indoor plant and above the white noise machine in my therapist’s office. 

“Really!? You’re joking?” I said.

“Why would you think I’m joking?”

“It’s just…nopony ever wanted to hear me play. The most I’d get was Zipp banging on the wall asking me to be quiet.”

“Well, I want to hear. Play a song for me.”

I played her one of the songs I wrote. No Soul Ever Asleep, I called it. Edgy, I know, trust me I’m drowning in cringe too.

And after I was finished…she didn’t applaud even. Just sat there. Her mouth open.

“Pipp, dear. Have you ever considered a career in music?”

And the rest is history. Mom set me up with a voice teacher who taught me proper vocal technique. I had that to go to twice a week and that forced me into a routine. I started sleeping at normal times again. My room went back to white and gold colors. I ditched the dyed mane and colored contacts. Thank hoofness—any longer and I think my hair follicles and pupils would’ve been fried. If you look at the makeup I’m wearing in my 14th birthday photo, and compare it with my 15th birthday photo—it’s like I’ve literally come back to life from being a skeleton. 

That’s when I decided to write my first studio album for young teen girls: around the same age I was when I went through my dark metal phase. I wanted to write happy songs for my listeners. Songs that I wish I had heard when I was a tween that would’ve made me feel like everything was going to be okay. My first pop album sold out in the teen pop market. I was performing sold-out concerts in giant stadiums. 

Soon my old metal phase was a distant memory. And the rest is history. 

The rest, meaning not counting my metal phase.

My metal phase was not history. Remember what my metal phase was? A coping mechanism after Dad died. A stepping stone to my real music career.

Well…

…that’s how I used to think for a long, long time.

But now my secret is out…I’ll say this. To the Pippsqueaks who might be shocked, or disappointed in me. 

I’m actually glad…I had that metal phase.

I still love reading horror stories to my friends during our sleepovers. I can scream for help to save my life louder than anypony can. And I’m actually really good at shredding a guitar. Maybe I don’t look it anymore, but metal is still a part of me. And I’m proud of it.

Don’t be afraid of death, or pain, or suffering. Yes, it’s natural to be afraid of such dark things. But we can make beauty of that darkness. We can make art out of that fear. You can learn a lot and grow a lot from sadness and suffering, if you choose to embrace it.

So I want you to think about the scariest moments in your life. Maybe nopony showed up to your birthday party. Or you wet yourself while performing alone on stage. Or the school bullies shoved your head into the trash can.

(Yes, all those things happened to me when I was a kid.)

It hurts to think about it, doesn’t it? But now, play that fear. Turn up the volume. Let it gnaw into your inner being.

Are you still sitting down? Well stand up now. And take a sip out of that drink of water.

And give me your best metal scream.