talkingtothewillow - Tumblr blog

[talkingtothewillow]

Barbie is my Joker. How men were with Joker is how I am with Barbie. No I will not elaborate.🫶

[talkingtothewillow]

Watching Barbie watch as Ken takes over barbieland, takes her dream house and turn it into his own property, ruins her things whilst she cries in despair and suddenly I’m six years old again pleading my brother to be gentle with my toys as he throws them on the floor and against the walls. The hundreds of dollars in dolls that my parents spent for birthdays and christmas, told me to be careful with and showed me how to play nice destructed and destroyed as my brother grabs at anything and everything, tosses them around, stretches their plastic joints and pulls at their heads while I scream for him to stop seemingly wasted in seconds. He throws one down for another and I’m too small to grab them off of him. Easily toppled over as he pushes me aside and I’m wondering what I ever did to him to deserve it.

On top of it all, he’s still surprised when his torment breaks one of them, the legs snap out and he pauses as though he’s remorseful. I cry at the loss of my doll and despite how it was him who broke it. Him who threw it around. Him who pulled until the elastic snapped..

I am still told I should’ve been more careful with my toys.

[talkingtothewillow]

Seeing people talk about Ken being a metaphor for little boys who grew up to be porn obsessed, objectifying teenagers who then grew up to be misogynistic, angry men in power who you will always miss as the innocent little boys they once were whilst they don’t notice a single thing about their progression hits so much harder when those little boys weren’t just your playground friends but your older or younger brothers who grew in the same house that you did, experienced so much of what you did, lived by your side for years only to still become those men.

And it sucks cause you blame yourself for not noticing, for not having a bigger impact, for missing the times that you could’ve changed something but it’s not ever actually your fault because you were just a little girl too and you were too busy playing with your dolls or texting your friends, just going through your girlhood to ever notice their change.

But even if we did notice, would it have mattered? Because shouldn’t having a sister be enough for them? Shouldn’t that be enough for them to understand? Even in the slightest?

Shouldn’t having a mother be enough?

[talkingtothewillow]

No one could ever hold me the way my bed does. Through countless nights of dreams, terrors and ceiling staring, I have felt no greater comfort than being wrapped within these sheets. The pillows catch every tear, the doona holds me throughout the night and the mattress carries the weight of it all. There is nothing else alike this sanctuary and it is mine in its entirety, never meaning as much to the other bodies it has held as it does to mine.

(Love letter to my bed)

[talkingtothewillow]

My body sinks into the mattress the way one would float on water, I have become weightless and weighted in my existence all at once. I am heavy and light in my presence, I feel nothing and everything all at once. I am content.

(Lightweight)

[talkingtothewillow]

How could I ever feel hatred towards myself? I am the same child that stood with rocks in my pockets and sand kissed legs. I am the same child that filled the air with the loudest laughter for it could not be contained within my baby lungs. I am the same child that giggled as I spun around in my dress, that gushed about being a princess. I am the same child who insisted on only having what I loved, the same child who had her best interest at heart.

I could never hate that child, I could never wish her harm, and I hope she knows that. I pray she knows that.

[talkingtothewillow]

The warmth inside of me reminds me of my human nature, the blood that flows through and kisses my veins as it passes.

The heat in my heart and the beat it drums to fills me with a feeling of peace that has always seemed unachievable, unmanageable almost.

I am filled to the brim, I am loving every minute of this warmth with all I have, if only to enjoy it as hard as I can now to sustain the memory of it when it leaves.

[talkingtothewillow]

Your consumption of my mind is one you do unknowingly yet you seem so willing that I will allow you to continue to feast.

(I think this is our problem)