So this is what trust looks like.
Funny, my first thought was “So this is what the patriarchy looks like.”
Yup. This is how women are supposed to trust men. With their lives.
Woman : “Hey, can we just… Drop the bow?”
Man : “WHY DON’T YOU TRUST ME I’M NOT A VIOLENT GUY, YOU ARE INSULTING ME THINKING I WILL HURT YOU!!!”
Woman : “No it’s just… Well I’m afraid.”
Man : “But why? Look at me, I’m not afraid. And we’re equal, look, we pull the bow together.”
Woman : “I think we’re not equal, you can kill me with the arrow and I can’t.”
Man : “What? So you would like to be able to kill me? You’re so agressive!”
Woman : “That’s not what I mean, we were talking about equality : you can hurt me, I can’t.”
Man : “Of course you can. You can hit me with the bow if you want.”
Woman : “That’s not the same thing, it will never kill you.”
Man : “Oh, you always complaining, stop victimising yourself! Do I talk about the difficulty of holding the arrow? Of the responsibility it giving to me?”
Every debates about gender equality, ladies and gentleman.
omg the comments. Brilliant.
This is making me want to weep
When I was younger, I was told that there is too much inside of me. That I have feelings where others have bone. At the age of seven, a doctor tapped inside my head and asked, “Do you choke on memories from time to time? Do you cry for no good reason at all? Do words take a hammer to your head and crack your skull?” Yes, yes, yes, I nodded. “Then you’ve definitely got them,” he said, as he checked off a box on his list. “Too many feelings. What a shame. Try not to keep them inside or you’ll drown.”
For awhile, I tried to follow his advice by pouring my feelings into boys’ mouthes until I was numb to the memory of ever being over-filled. I let myself go weak in their arms and became a hickey-covered exhale. But no matter how many times I offered my mouth like a flower to be plucked, the feelings spurted from my chest and soaked whoever came close in words.
I tried to expel my feelings by punching them out of my throat and using ink to exorcise them from my chest, but still, they covered me in tear-stained scars and left me to whither alone in the back of bars. Still, they had me running towards strangers’ cars, asking them if they knew how I could rid myself of my weak heart.
Finally, having had enough, I took a train outside my hometown to shed everything I cared about. On a grey beach, I dumped all of the feelings which threatened to keep me from living normally. Then came the moment when I had to decide if I would rather be liked or be who I am-too sensitive, too quiet, too honest, too burdened. And still undecided, I have not opened my mouth since.
—Staying Silent Until I’m Certain | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)