So how stupid do you think the Hogwarts teachers felt back in Harrys first year when their traps and riddles designed to keep out Lord fucking Voldemort were beaten by three 11 year olds
So how stupid do you think the Hogwarts teachers felt back in Harrys first year when their traps and riddles designed to keep out Lord fucking Voldemort were beaten by three 11 year olds
I had a theory about this actually!
I mean, on the one hand, you could argue that they were exceptionally brilliant for their ages (which they were) but even then Voldemort was also brilliant so the professors should have really made the traps harder right?
Well, what if they did?
What if the traps that the Golden Trio faced were like 1/10th of the traps and were 1/50th of the difficulty?
What if the school itself knew that they needed to get to Quirrell?
And so the school itself changed up everything just for them?
And so help was given at Hogwarts to those who asked for it?
So how stupid do you think the Hogwarts teachers felt back in Harrys first year when their traps and riddles designed to keep out Lord fucking Voldemort were beaten by three 11 year olds
So how stupid do you think the Hogwarts teachers felt back in Harrys first year when their traps and riddles designed to keep out Lord fucking Voldemort were beaten by three 11 year olds
So how stupid do you think the Hogwarts teachers felt back in Harrys first year when their traps and riddles designed to keep out Lord fucking Voldemort were beaten by three 11 year olds
I had a theory about this actually!
I mean, on the one hand, you could argue that they were exceptionally brilliant for their ages (which they were) but even then Voldemort was also brilliant so the professors should have really made the traps harder right?
Well, what if they did?
What if the traps that the Golden Trio faced were like 1/10th of the traps and were 1/50th of the difficulty?
What if the school itself knew that they needed to get to Quirrell?
And so the school itself changed up everything just for them?
And so help was given at Hogwarts to those who asked for it?
So how stupid do you think the Hogwarts teachers felt back in Harrys first year when their traps and riddles designed to keep out Lord fucking Voldemort were beaten by three 11 year olds
I had a theory about this actually!
I mean, on the one hand, you could argue that they were exceptionally brilliant for their ages (which they were) but even then Voldemort was also brilliant so the professors should have really made the traps harder right?
Well, what if they did?
What if the traps that the Golden Trio faced were like 1/10th of the traps and were 1/50th of the difficulty?
What if the school itself knew that they needed to get to Quirrell?
And so the school itself changed up everything just for them?
And so help was given at Hogwarts to those who asked for it?
Also, like, I always felt like those traps and riddles weren’t really meant to keep Lord Voldemort out–more to be an annoyance and an inconvenience. Because the fact is, the mirror alone unguarded in a room would have been enough.
No one who wanted the stone for themselves or for their own gain could get to it. Voldemort certainly couldn’t get to it, nor could anyone who might work for him, whether through fear or actual loyalty, because they would be trying to get it for their own gain (that is, the favor of Lord Voldemort). The only way to get that stone out of the mirror would be someone with completely selfless intent–like Harry, who’s only motive was to get the stone to keep it safe and out of Voldemort’s hands.
If the Mirror of Erised had stayed alone and unguarded in the room where Harry first found it, Voldemort still couldn’t have gotten the stone. So I feel like the riddles and traps were meant to be annoying and time consuming (and even painful, in the case of the winged keys and the game of chess) and potentially deadly (if he had solved Snape’s riddle incorrectly), while the Mirror of Erised was the only true defense. And it worked perfectly.
Yup - they were meant as a distraction, to make whoever was trying to get the Stone think they were very clever and beating Dumbledore’s and the staff’s best efforts. But it’s just a time waster, something to trick the person into thinking there’s some way to solve the puzzle of how to get the Stone from the mirror, when they can’t unless they have completely selfless and pure motives for doing so. That, I think, is why Dumbledore placed Snape’s logic puzzle last - so that the mirror, with its backward writing, looked like another one, something that could be overcome with the right answer, rather than the right mindset and attitude. Quirrell could have stood in front of the mirror until he starved to death and never gotten his hands on the Stone.
Gryffindors don’t give a shit about rules. The most hardline of them don’t even care about people. They care about justice. Right or wrong, black or white, there are no shades of grey. If it’s just, it’s always just; if it’s unjust, it’s always wrong. Hermione’s ruthlessness makes her a Gryffindor. She is absolutely sure that she is on the side of justice in everything that she does, and it’s such a Gryffindor trait.
Because Slytherins are ruthless, but they care about rules. Their own rules, usually, but rules nonetheless. They will impose parameters and limitations on themselves just so they have a framework to operate within. If doing something means violating their own internal code, then they’re not gonna do it. Even fucking Voldemort is like that. He broke every single fucking rule the Wizarding World ever put in place, but damn if he’d break his own.
And Ravenclaws? They hate rules. Fucking things just get in the way. They prevent creativity and keep people from accomplishing their goals. Ravenclaws are probably some of the most dangerous people in the entirety of the book series, because they’re brilliant and creative and ambitious and prideful, and when they snap, they do not have inhibitions. They will wreck everything that ever had the nerve to get in their way, and they will never once feel bad about it.
And then there’s Hufflepuffs. They emphasize equality. If the playing field is equal, then all other good things will come from there. People hear that, and they think that Hufflepuffs are pushovers. They cast them as the shy ones, the fearful ones, the insecure ones. Really, they’re none of these things. They are nice, accepting, friendly, this is all true, but they are also entirely willing to fight anyone that steps up to the plate talking shit. Hufflepuffs will defend themselves and other people until they drop dead, and it’s infuriating to see that only ever attributed to Gryffindors. Because the big difference is that a Gryffindor believes in acceptable causalties, and a Hufflepuff will knock your teeth down your fucking throat for even suggesting such a disgusting idea. For Hufflepuffs, there are no acceptable casualties; any loss of life is utterly unacceptable.
There are a lot of people that talk about House stereotyping, and then turn around and perpetuate further stereotypes. Gryffindors are not necessarily knights in shining armor; Slytherins are not necessarily callous villains; Ravenclaws are much more than just intelligent, and Hufflepuff is not the motherfucking potato House.
Like, the topic of LGBTQ+ representation comes up and you get responses like this:
“How could I ever write this character without them coming off as incredibly phony? I spent all the research and effort I could just to write for lesbians and I already had to make conceits for them not working the same way in my particular book-world; as a cis white guy, if I have to go further than that then I’m just pulling it out of thin air! Nobody’s going to respect it, least of all me.”
And “You ask a cis, heterosexual white female to write something she probably had no clue about” … “you have to try understand that not everyone knows how to write trans and gay people.”
(And yes, these are real, actual, word for word quotes)
and I’m just like…
We aren’t aliens? We’re people? Like normal, regular people?
Like, why is acknowledging the fact that we exist some difficult, herculean chore for cis straight people? Where does this bizarre lack of empathy and inability to see us as human come from?
Like, I’m bi. But amazingly, I’m able to write CIS STRAIGHT characters just fine. It’s not a problem for me? I don’t find cis straight people to be some unreadable otherworldly enigma whose inner machinations are unknowable.
So why? Why is it so unrealistic for us to expect cis straight people to be capable and willing to portray US in fiction and to portray us WELL?
Why is that scary? Its someone literally saying that they have difficulty accurately portraying LGTBQ characters in their stories.
If that scares you then you need to grow up
Listen, I’m straight and i don’t write about LGBT characters because im not a lesbian or bi so i cannot write about LGBT people because im not one of them. You think its easy but when you have no idea what they think or experience its hard. And if you are complaining about how other people write THEIR stories, you need to get off the internet or go write your own version of it with gay or bisexual characters.
Ok, but I’m a bi woman, and I’m able to write stories that have straight men in them.
How is that possible? How is it POSSIBLE that I know how straight men think or experience the world when I’m not one of them?
Because I HAVE written a book, and it’s not filled with white, cis, bisexual women from central texas who are oldest children and literally nothing else. I am capable of creating characters who are both similar and different than I am.
It is a skill that human beings are capable of.
yes but you are BISEXUAL so you are attracted to both sexes, plus you know how many writers get ripped on for adding gay characters in their story because they are either stereotypical or the author is not gay/bi themselves? You can write the mind of a straight man because you are attracted to girls AND boys and if you wrote a straight character you can still relate to them! Write your own fucking story and quit crying about representation when that SHOULD NOT BE THE POINT OF THE BOOK! If you write about bi or gay characters good for you! Don’t be telling other writers what to do with their talent! I’m a straight woman, i do not see anything attractive about other women so i DO NOT know what a lesbian or boy thinks about a girl in a sexual way, go write your stories but stay the fuck away from others if you can’t handle people not writing it for YOU! You can write all you want about them, but im not going to write about gay or bisexual characters and act like i know what they think and experience.
Are you seriously telling me that you are incapable of writing a straight male character? Because you don’t know what is attractive about women.
Because this is a hell of a ride.
actually im saying that you can’t know what a gay or bi person thinks or goes through everyday if you aren’t one. And yes its possible to write ABOUT them, but its difficult when you aren’t one yourself. I put them in my stories for representation, but i do not write ABOUT them because im not one of them. Some writers can do that, i cant its a weakness and if people think thats a tragedy, get over it every writer has a weakness and ive tried to overcome it but can’t. I will also quote the person whos response was the best because she is a writer as well and knows how difficult it is to write about someone who is different from you ‘
When a female writer write a male perspective, you have to get into the male mindset. If you are white and you want to write a non-white character you have to get into a different mindset. If you want to write a character that was abused but you yourself were not abused, its a different mindset. Writing a character that you don’t identify with is a challenge and almost all writers have done it at least once. So I would think other writers would be more understanding of that.
‘ So there. I never said don’t put them in your story, i just said its difficult to write about someone that is different from you. Once again, if you don’t agree, find another story to read or write one yourself.
So wait.
You’re saying that YOU, as a straight person, CAN’T know how a bi person thinks or goes through everyday, because your mindset is fundamentally different.
But I, as a bi person, “can still relate” to straight men because I am attracted to women like they are?
Do you not see the disconnect there?
And, as I TOLD YOU, I have written stories. I’m working on my second book.
I’ve noticed this revisionist Greek myth is common wherein Persephone loves Hades and eats the pomegranate seeds in order to evade her overbearing mother, and that’s all well and good. You know, sometimes I’m in the mood for it and sometimes I’m not. But hear this: as long as we’re doing this, why is no one wondering whether Aphrodite might really love Hephaestus?
Think about it. All the gods in their immortal splendor are lining up to marry her, doing everything in their power to impress her, the goddess of love and beauty, and she choses…that guy. A god in technical terms only, a social reject who’s ugly and malformed and um, no fun. Always slaving away in his workshop when everyone else is quaffing nectar and having their eternal beach party up on Mount Olympus. They can’t believe she’d give up all of them for that.
So, because the gods do not take rejection well (looking at you Apollo), eventually they start to say to each other, well, we all know Zeus made her do it anyway. He’s gotta feel guilty for throwing Hephaestus off Mount Olympus that one time. And it quickly becomes thatpoorgirl, stuck in that workshop full of sweat and dirt and cyclopses when she could have had one of us. Because of course they’ve got love all figured out; it’s entirely technical and dependent on who’s the most charming and good-looking and not at all variable and strange and notoriously unpredictable, right?
Meanwhile Ares, only the most arrogant and brainless of the crew, can’t take a hint and is still showing up wherever Aphrodite goes trying to hit on her, so eventually she and Hephaestus decide to rig up an elaborate mechanical trap for him, using her as bait. When all the gods have laughed at him for getting caught he huffily attempts to regain his dignity by telling them, whatever, guys, you want to know the truth, I was meeting her for an assignation. And they all kind of know he’s full of it but they just accept it as the unvarnished truth from thereon in, because they’d love to believe she’d cheat on Hephaestus with Ares. They’d love it. Come on, Aphrodite, get off your high horse and admit you’re just as shallow as the rest of us.
So they talk, but Aphrodite doesn’t really care about their collective jealousy because she dotes on her misshapen genius of a husband with his sooty hands and his sweaty brow who always takes her seriously and is always so hard at work inventing astonishing new things to make her happy, and she loves the volcano they live in with its internal pressures so conducive to the formation of precious stones and its passages lit with glowing lava that so gorgeously offsets her cheekbones, and all the cyclopses worship her because even with one eye apiece they’ve still got more depth perception than most men do where she’s concerned. True it is that as a couple the two develop a reputation for not getting out much, because all those Olympian parties bore them to death and they’d rather spend time with each other (poor Aphrodite, she’s such a vivacious young thing and her husband is so grasping and insecure that he won’t let her go out and have fun), but they do all right.
THIS IS THE KIND OF CONTENT I’M LOOKING FOR
love <3
Ok, ok, wait, but it doesn’t end there. Because Aphrodite features pretty heavily in the story of Eros and Psyche. She’s painted as the villain, her jealousy causing her to send her son to curse the girl, but that’s just not true. She knows what it’s like to be clamored over for your beauty, knows the lies that are spread, the way it sets you up as a target and discredits your mind. Aphrodite hears the mortals whisper that this human girl rivals her in beauty, and one day she gets around to seeing what the fuss is about.
She finds Psyche’s home all but besieged by suitors, but she notices the girl isn’t falling for their flattery, that she is still kind, no matter who she’s dealing with. She sees a bit of herself in this girl who aches to be spoken to, not at, and who wants most of all to be heard.
When she sends her son to the girl, she is less than truthful about her motivations. She knows if she tells him she hopes he will fall for this mortal girl it will make things awkward for him, that true love must be discovered on its own and cannot be forced. When he comes away from the encounter with her name on his lips, searching for excuses to talk to her again, Aphrodite whispers into the soothsayer’s ear to tell Psyche’s father that she is loved by a god. Frees her from the hoards of shallow admirers and gives her son the opportunity he needs to see her again.
When a year of late-night conversations fails to convince her son that it’s time to reveal himself to his beloved, she puts a bug in Psysche’s ear to ask for her sisters to visit, whispers in their ears to convince Psyche to take matters into her own hands, ensures the two can finally meet face to face. She is saddened when Eros flees, believing Psyche had betrayed him.
The four tasks Psyche must overcome to be reunited with her son aren’t laid forth out of spite, but rather to help the girl find herself. Aphrodite knows this girl hasn’t had a choice in the path her life has taken up until this point. Knows that everything was in the hands of her father, and of Aphrodite herself. She wants to make sure Psyche means it, wants Psyche to know what she’s getting into when dealing with the Olympians. Wants, most of all, for Psyche to question her own motivations, fully evaluate the situation, and then make her own choice.
Her frustration at the Olympians aiding the girl isn’t because she hates being tricked. No, she wants Psyche to break out of her shell, wants her to have the option to decide this isn’t worth it and walk away.
When the final task ends in Psyche laying unconscious on the roadway, Aphrodite searches the girl’s heart and knows her intentions are true. Knows she is ready to join the family. She kicks Eros out of the house to ensure he would find Psyche, to ensure he would come to his senses and forgive her, realize that he had been unfair to her and to ask her forgiveness in turn.
They say Aphrodite was sour about the whole ordeal until her granddaughter was born, but the truth was she hadn’t stopped smiling from the moment her son had first come home, whispering the girls name in reverence.
Okay but after seeing this I started doing it too and it’s amazing how many men I’ve run into bc they expected me to move
Gotta try it
I work (and walk) on a college campus. I’ve lost count of how many men I’ve smacked shoulders with.
Recently, I was standing outside my son’s classroom waiting to talk to his teacher. I stood on one side of the hallway, not even close to the center. At some point, a man came walking along. I was standing right in his path, but the hallway was empty, so I logically expected him to swerve around me. Instead he kept walking right toward me, got to me, and stopped, as if waiting for me to get out of his way. I didn’t; I just smiled politely at him. He finally walked around me, clearly annoyed that I hadn’t leapt out of his manly path.
Now I’m wishing I’d leapt aside, taken off my jacket and laid it on the floor before him, then bowed deeply and said, “My Liege!”
I also work at a college campus. I smack shoulders sometimes, but I find that if I stare straight ahead and follow the advice below, people get the heck out of the way.
Honestly this post changed how I carry myself when walking alone in public, or in a situation where I’m the one leading. People definitely move for the murder gaze.
Confirmed. I once had to rush back inside a convention hall as the con was closing in order to a retrieve a sick friend’s medication, and I didn’t understand why people in the crowd were jumping out of my way (literally—one guy vaulted a table) until I realized I was dressed as the Winter Soldier and doing the Murder Walk because that’s just how I walk in those boots. I got the meds, got out, and made a mental note.
I repeated the experiment later, wearing the boots but otherwise my usual clothing and mimicking the expression I thought I’d had at that moment. People parted like I was Charlton Heston.
I now wear that style of boots whenever possible. I recently had a man do a double-take as I walked by and ask me, politely, where I had served because I “looked like a soldier.” I’m not current or former military. I was wearing a flowy purple peasant top and looked as un-soldierlike as possible.
Moral of the story: wear comfortable shoes, square your shoulders, and walk like you’ve been sent to murder Captain America.
WALK LIKE YOU’VE BEEN SENT TO MURDER CAPTAIN AMERICA
Aries —
oh, my sweet, sweet child, what has the world done to you? you were a bright promise,
the tomorrow we had hoped for, holding flowers in your mouth without crushing them
and trusting blindly in those around you. and then came the blood; and now your fire
is a quiet thing, a crackling murmur hidden in the shadows. you’ve curled into yourself
like a newborn babe, held your heart tightly to your chest and began the tedious healing.
and all the salt in your tears made the deep wounds sting; was it this what kept you pure?
I wonder, oh, I wonder. before you, I had never seen an anathema so full of innocence.
(the world tried to cast you down from paradise; and it succeeded. but the fall couldn’t
maim you, for fire cannot kill fire – it simply shrunk you, much like a mimosa bloom.
I hope one day you’ll feel safe enough to flower, for there is so much beauty in you.)
Taurus —
I wish I could wrap my hands around your shoulders and hold you close for a while,
because oh, what sad things they are, your bones. I am so sorry, beloved; so very sorry.
and I am well aware these apologies cannot change anything, but I want you to know
that there is someone who sees you as you are – even when all the others see is your
superfluous frivolity and your desire for riches, I see the thoughtful mind, the gentle
gestures, each and every of your heartbeats. the song of you is imprinted into my memory
as the change in seasons is; you are unforgettable, something so precious and so very dear.
(don’t let them shame you for your greed – those who try to do so cannot wrap their
all too little minds around the fact that sin is not necessarily negative. your love for gold
has root in the same place as your love for others; you only want it so you may share it.)
Gemini —
it’s lonely, isn’t it? not being the way all others are. they tell you you’re a forgery, that your
smile is a mask and your composure an act, simply because they cannot accept the idea
that people are supposed to be multidimensional. on and on they go, pinning their ignorance
to you under the name of blame, seeing in you only that which they wish to see. sometimes,
you wish you were like them. I know you do. you shouldn’t. it might be lonely where you are,
but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing; lonely doesn’t mean secluded. there are others like you,
with minds like diamonds. others like you, who are only habitual in their tendency for change.
(you will find someone who can make sense out of you, one day, you know. they’ll know you
better than you yourself do – every single aspect of you, every single frantic facet and feeling.
and when you do, the wait will be more than worth it. I promise you won’t die nor live alone.)
Cancer —
you poor, poor, poor thing. it’s been a thousand years since you’ve curled into yourself, hid
your heart deep in the cradle of your ribs and let yourself sleep; then the time came for you
to awaken, and you found the world unchanged – it was as if everything had stood still.
reality swept into you like saltwater into gaping wounds, and every fiber of your soul wept.
fearful, you took the broken glass road still, walked it fully aware of what laid in waiting;
like a bride the night she is wed to a stranger, you swallowed your terror and saw it through.
often, those ignorant make you out to be such a bumbling coward. you’re not. you just aren’t.
(in fact, you’re on of the bravest people I know; it takes so much courage to let the world
see you weep – and it takes even more of it to wipe your tears and keep moving forward.
above all, it takes immense courage to allow yourself to love even when you know it’ll hurt.)
Leo —
the size of your heart puts to shame both Jupiter and your own pride and ego; to this day,
I am not sure if you would have been better off with one much smaller, but I know for sure
the world would have been emptier by far. you see, your touch is one of gold; whomever
you decide to invest your time and love into grows the size of Atlas, and so, without you
as you are now there would have been much less in the world. that is your downfall, isn’t it?
always has been. the way you’ve always put others first, giving them all of you, never asking
for anything to be given to you in return. you are a gardener, dearest, and people are your roses.
(it breaks my heart that all your selfless effort was almost always repaid in hurt and sorrow;
know that you are not to be blamed for any of it. you have done nothing wrong – sometimes,
things simply fall apart. don’t shut your heart. I’d hate to see your love rot and turn to hatred.)
Virgo —
you have endured well the contempt of others, my dear; you have taken every blow with open arms.
they have called you frigid and prude and arrogant and everything in between, but you knew better.
tell me then: if you can endure so well the slander of others, if you don’t care what they make of you,
why do you worry so? why do you see only blemishes when you look at yourself in the mirror?
your hesitance to trust others stems in your fear that if you let them in they’ll see your ugliness, all
the imagined imperfections you see in your reflection. you can’t trust others because you don’t trust
yourself; and I wish so badly that you would have a little more faith in who you are, in your beauty.
(being unable to forgive, jealousy and lust do not make you terrible. hate is human nature as much
as love is; emotions, be they bad or good, are intrinsic to mankind. you are such a passionate being,
despite your outward delicacy, and that, my dear, is simply stunning. please try to love yourself.)
Libra —
darling child, didn’t the gods tell you the mob sees dancers as something of the devil, especially
when their preferred stage is the sharp edge of a sword? few in this world love truth, and fewer still
are fond of things like righteousness and justice. your ability to remain indiscriminate in the face
of contradictory realities and deny none of them is both a blessing and a curse. your mind, I fear,
is the Pandora fate has crafted specifically for you; a beautiful gift that hides such doom and sorrow.
and you are aware of all of this – how you were meant for greater things, with your noble mind
and your true heart, yet on you dance, fighting against the windmills of adversity. how brave you are.
(know that your effort will not go without reward. know that you won’t be forever unloved, nor
will you be forever misunderstood. there will be those whom, like you, have the makings of just men,
and they will understand. keep your eyes open and search the crowd; that is what you do best.)
Scorpio —
I look at you and my heart grows small; there is so much sadness in you, from the flower
of your eyes to the slouching arch of your shoulders. you have been misjudged
and falsely accused for so long: whore, they said; monster, perverter, sickness of the soul –
and all of it because you like sex, as if somehow they are the virgin mary reborn,
the goddamn hypocrites. this, too, is something they have misunderstood; it is not sex
that you crave or are interested in. it is intimacy: it is the vulnerability that comes with having
your soul completely bared and lain before another; you crave love, in its’ purest of forms.
(and I know they have convinced you that someone of your kind is not “worthy”; fuck that.
your love is priceless, and one day someone will call your battle scars a masterpiece.
one day someone will love you as wholly as you deserve to be loved. they will love all of you.)
Sagittarius —
there is such wanderlust in you – you’ve made a home out of the long, long roads,
walked the earth to its’ ends and bathed in the oceans of the horizon; the sky was
your sole companion, its’ stars your map, the wind a spellsong to ward off the passing
sadness and melancholia that threatened to dim the flame of your heart. oh, my child;
how very wonderful you are, a barefoot nomad forever in awe of the world. the feeble
minded call you rootless; how wrong they are. having a voyager heart does not make you
afraid of commitment. it simply means your roots lie elsewhere, splat across the world.
(do not let their malice plant doubts into your mind’s garden; your gypsy heart is worth more
than all their empty ones combined. keep daring the world, sate your thirst for journeying;
only exploration can ever lead to discovery, so let your feet and head both walk the world.)
Capricorn —
good god, you’re so tired. life has worn you down to the marrow of your bones,
took everything from you until you were bare-handed; and yet.
and yet you’re still here, standing before me, your spine hardened to titanium,
a delicate thing that can withstand even the most apocalyptic of sieges;
you still find it in you to smile, bitter-bloody-all-teeth and still happy, somehow.
know that I am proud of you; of your bravery, of your resilience,
of how you’ve clung to life by the skin of your teeth. I am proud of you.
(and know that you deserve happiness – you may feel like you don’t, you may feel
that it is above the likes of you, but you deserve it; you have earned it.
know that one of these days, the sun will shine down on your lane, too.)
Aquarius —
there’s so much of you inside your skin I am often surprised it has yet to come apart at the seams;
there’s so much of everything inside your skull I am left in awe of your bones – often I wonder,
how are they strong enough to contain the exploding universe inside? my god, this world of ours
has seven wonders and you are all of them. the fortitude of your bright mind ceaselessly
surprises me; I know what to expect, and yet I am still thrown off by your ingenuity and your
ability to remain rational in your abstract ways. nobody but you is open enough to accept it all;
nobody but you can see through the prism of all eyes and walk away with their sanity intact.
(I know they call you “cold”, an ice queen of the Siberian tundra. let them be. those who cannot
see your white-hot warmth are not worthy of your brilliance. you are the brightest star, my dear,
someone accepting and embracing of it all. do not settle for anyone that is blind to your light.)
Pisces —
and how terrible it must be for you, who lives always halfway, to be stuck in a world
that demands certainties which you will never have to give. it is not to say you don’t want
to be resolute – you simply cannot. your world does not have truth, nor does it have falsity;
all that your world has are colors, swirling, forever mingling anew like the clouds in the sky.
one day you are overflowing with everything that blooms inside of you, and lilies
are spilling out of your ribs; the next, you’re empty, and you can’t for the life of you
find something that is all-encompassing enough to fill the growing abyss south of your sternum.
(know that it is okay. the most humane thing you can be is full of contradictions;
as maddening as it can be, each paradox gets you closer to the entity your peers call god.
it was never the devil that built his home on the crossroads, you know. embrace your nature.)
"
—
poetry for the signs: the “you’ve done well” edition,
