And All I Loved, I Loved Alone.

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Edgar Allan Poe; Alone (via sunsetquotes)

kinda sensitive, kinda heartless

✏ Credit: the-rip-current

in movies, how often is the man who-works-and-sacrifices-family shown as a hero, a martyr who loves his family and is lonely but must be successful, with an understanding wife who is content just for a few small glimpses of him

how often is the woman shown as selfish, cruel, cold. how often does the fight between her and her partner look a lot like “you belong at home!” and does he yell at her because now the chores aren’t getting done, because she’s neglecting his messes the way he neglected hers before this

in movies, how often is the man who is gentle, a home-body and a nurturer played for laughs, for the “look at how silly he is, what a goof,” how often is a man in a situation that’s vaguely child-rearing incredibly incompetent; a vision of fear and uncertainty 

how often is the woman in a position of power neither evil nor the love interest. when she shows up for Man Things and performs them with efficiency, has she learned it “from her brothers,” is she naked in a few scenes? is she the arm candy of the big bad villain, with two whole lines spoken, just barely.

the blade cuts both ways, yes, of course, if you’re looking. but then i think about how few girls are in STEM and how many articles are written about “cute dads who actually take care of their children!” and how if a man cooks he’s a chef but if a woman does she’s just where she belongs, in the kitchen. the blade cuts both ways but not equally, doesn’t it? it might bite the wielder but in that burst of pain it lets you forget: you’re bringing this down onto somebody’s head.

Calling Slytherins sarcastic, edgy people who are always pissed off is all fun and games until you realize when those jokes are all you say about Slytherins or about being Slytherin is exactly what reinforces the stupid stereotypes

Shrewd Slytherin

We are Slytherin. We are green and silver. We are the crushing of the waves. We are shadows and currents.

We are the calm before a storm and suggestive smirks in class. We are the legends that linger forever. Sometimes our tounges are sharper than our knives. Sometimes our smiles are more cruel than our revenge. Our condolences. We are the heroes that lived too long. We are the Kings and Queens of Kings and Queens. And heavy weighs the crown. We are the moon in the sky and the snow on the ground. We are the ballet dancers that rock. We are the northern lights in the polar night. We are beautiful and sharp and crystal clear.

And breakable.

We embrace our shadows and keep our chin high. And sometimes the dark comes seeping in. Sometimes our own weapons turn against us. Sometimes it’s hard to keep the head clear. To focus. Sometimes our control crumbles. And is taken away. Sometimes it’s impossible to hold on.

Sometimes I realise my mistake. And sometimes I ponder if I am one. And then they are there. Screaming: Yes. Yes, you are… Someone who can’t even do this simple task.

Sometimes I hide from them. In my room. I can hear them scream and yell downstairs. Upstairs. On the other side of the door. And sometimes I am happy that I am so lonely. Because at least I don’t have to listen to them. And sometimes I think: Why bother? At all?

But then there you are: The calm after the storm. The boulder in the stream. My rock. And your voice is soft:

“Want to feel alive?”

And I chuckle. Because you have come to know me so well. And you take my hand and lead me away from them.

And we conquer the world. We hoist our colours and take a gulp of freedom. We are the snake with its cunning and wisdom. We are the sea. A roaring and a calm. And we will write history and prophecies.

Because we want to.

{However, please, don’t push me.}