I couldn’t care less about them. I literally do not know a single person, my eighty-year-old grandparents included, who is offended by any of the things they warn you about before a movie comes on TV. Nor do I believe any reasonably well-brought-up child needs to be sheltered from them.
But it would be super fucking awesome if there could be warnings for post-trauma triggers, like scenes of rape, self-mutilation or domestic abuse.
Given half the chance, she’d rather sleep
Alone, half-frozen on the ocean floor
And picked apart by eels like so much seaweed,
Than undertake the chore of your affections.
Understand that you are not the first:
So many so-called “well-intentioned” men
Have thrown themselves upon her reef declaring
“Rescue!” she needn’t even cast a net
To catch her keep. Yet still you come ashore
With vows to make your world your gift to her
As though her own were somehow wanting.
You claim the siren’s singing lured you here?
You listened to that hoarse, rampageous scream,
“Away! Get back!” and called it music? No,
Though you and she may share a mother tongue,
Do not presume you’ll ever speak her language.
She does not want you; she will never want you,
And she is neither yours to catch nor conquer.
But before you call her “harlot,” “cocktease,” “tramp,”
Know that she has gorged her lungs on oceans
Of furious indoctrination, drowned
In countless sailors’ self-entitled lust,
And drank from each one’s cup the vitriol
Of injured pride. Your gaslight accusations,
Like you, will hold no water by comparison.
After news broke of the wedding of River Song and the man known as The Doctor, former companion Rose Tyler reportedly wrote and recorded a song to attack the bride.
Watch your local pop charts for Tyler’s new single, “Two Hearts (But Only One Belongs To You)”
When I go to a blog expecting poetry and I scroll and scroll and I’m on page five before I find a post that isn’t reblogged and it isn’t even a poem.
It’s the little things,
Lies as small as scorpions
And frogs, that broke us.
Sometimes I think Atlantis was
Nothing but a sandcastle
Built below the tide lines,
And maybe so were we.
cough, bough, rough, through, plough, enough, ought….
It isn’t dificult to imagine beginning ESL students straight up having nightmares about this.
This hourglass is broken—see?
Here? this is where you opened me:
A hairline fracture
Wrapping noose-rope ‘round the glass,
Without courtesy of illumination.
Now all of us spills out of me
In petty measures—
What fool will mourn a grain of sand
Who calls the desert home?
This death is cunning, slow
But certain as Time:
The hourglass spills
Only when turned one way,
But the hourglass must always turn.
And so it is
I only lose you when I look for you,
And your ghost will see me empty soon.