We need a Disney Princess who has had an Abortion

Reality Show cartoon thoughts edition: I saw this stream of troll bait articles on conservative websites about Planned Parenthood tweeting, We need a Disney Princess who has had an abortion.

Disney princes…Hercules fights gods and uses weapons. Aladdin steals and uses a sword. Peter Pan has a knife and refuses to grow up. John Smith kidnaps and is a soldier. The Beast kidnaps and fights a guy who plummets to his death. Prince Eric, Charming...nondescript fill in pretty rich boys all seem to be highly correlated with kingdoms that would have armies doing some killing. These movies conveniently crescendo with betrothals which imply sex and happily ever after, well what if maybe we rushed into this, maybe Disney Princesses tend to rush into relationships with powerful enchanting violent men and Disney Princes tend to get immediately enamored for no logical reason with a certain ingénue.

What if, let’s just imagine, call me crazy I know, after the ever after those relationships aren’t working out or are not ready for progeny or father-in-king or mother-in-queen wants to keep you trapped in a tower or be somebody who isn’t quite you? What if you just want take off this bra and gown and put on some god damn yoga pants or your old fish tail? What if you might want to say this family and castle life is not for me? But you had sex and are debating should I stay in this castle or invoke volition to reverse this hastily conjoined arrangement full of my husband killing dragons, sea witches, dark queens, arrogant Gaston’s, Oriental Jaffar’s, my entire indigenous nation, or pirates after he clearly was fooling around with other mermaids?

Maybe that is the kind of man a Disney Princess might get all goo-goo eyed for and realize huh this guy has a dark side and after he got his dick in me he is not all Genie wishes and taking me dancing at balls anymore? Just making jokes about rubbing other balls. Maybe I was distracted because Disney decided to kill off or rip away my father or mother for some sadistic reason and I have daddy issues and take guidance from birds, mice, dwarfs, crustaceans, small dragons, or teapots. Maybe I didn’t see the dark side of my chosen suitor before like a reverse Stockholm syndrome Belle and the Beast moment. Now we’re pregnant.

The Disney Prince would surely want his heir who his princess would be dutifully taking care of while he is off crusading and warring for kingdom on his trusty talking horse or slave ship or magic carpet while Disney Princess is expected to sit in a fancy room being obedient. Maybe the abortion here for the cartoon is to say the Disney Princess life is unrealistic on more levels than just maestro sea orchestra conducting crabs, pixie dust, and sleep spells broken by a kiss. Maybe sheltering kids with horrific examples of adult relationships ignoring equitable emotional labor, relationship building, and self-actualization might lead to ta dah a Disney Princess choosing an abortion or egad the Prince agreeing because parenting just isn't meant to be.

Snow White and Sleeping Beauty are both based on women wanting to kill or curse little girls. Belle was kidnapped by a beast, Tangled princess was trapped in a tower by her mother. Cinderella was trapped in a tower by her stepmother. Ariel had her voice taken away by a fat-shamed sea witch in the cartoon version. She dies in the real version becoming sea foam. Maybe the real story is the misogyny of showing evil women and evil done to girls. Maybe an abortion is an artistic device to say women have a choice to say no. Maybe Ariel gets her god damn voice and fish vagina back.

ttp://www.foxnews.com/us/2018/03/27/backlash-after-planned-parenthood-branch-tweets-need-disney-princess-whos-had-abortion.html

Gifted

I watched this movie tonight… Some sentences in art resonate empathy in horrific ways, some scenes, you don’t want to be able to relate, fiction into non-fiction. You live underneath the limen where faith used to be. You hope spacetime’s passkey arrives in one coordinated moment in the future where the other sees you. No requirement to explain the why behind the path to now, the other just gets it. That recognition is like a forgiveness in a gust, filling you with validation of just how much you can love a person trying to do what is best for them never knowing if you were doing the right thing, but you buried into the deepest parts of you in moments that keep repeating to do the hardest thing you can imagine. Maybe that breaks you in a way you can’t explain to people. Few know where it comes from, but you do it, because it is not always about you. It’s not like a movie with clean lines and succinct felicity, you know you might not make it out of this alive or functional, but you did your best. You took the slap in the face. You were the bowing trunk staring up at that sun, bending in wind, meditating on what bounties the rain may one morn bring.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7CAjpdRaXU

An Image of the Male Body

The untouched male body

I live in

Walks into a dark house at eight p.m.

And talks to himself

With simulated sitcom conversations

Of how was and guess what

Dinner is always in the refrigerated plastic

Cooked ahead for the week

Consumed in totality by this stomach and these lips

Subsisting in a deficit of tactile contact

Recycled folly exercises honed in the realization of the way

A woman texts “I don’t feel romantic potential between us.”

The awful politeness of coded honesties

To be a man who was engrained so young to know

I am one of the ugly ones

I think women look at me the way I look at the ugly women

So it is one big animal pit of fleshed judgment

I am almost forty  

The sexlessness is the only Catholic thing left in me

I can no longer blame god for the celibacy

This is just dry runs bathed in PTSD and the mirror

The ghosted unreturned phone calls and the never given chances

This time I gave her a ride home mid-date

After she left to move lumber from incoming rainfall

My penis finds this humorous

The curtesy, the indifference

Never long enough to receive hatred or anger this decade

Just terminal expedient assessment of no thank you

A divorced man with an executive salary

A yoga body with muscled abdomen

A full head of hair

Re-transplanted top-dollar smile

And this face of lonely blue eyes 

Questioning his entire life how to talk to females

As anything other than friends

The sexlessness exudes my pores so much

I was once kicked out of an erotic writers group

By email because my demisexuality was not up to snuff

No retort just go, please stop, another no thank you for your service

We just do not see how you fit in here

I remember the week before my wife left

After ten years the last time we had sex

Was at her company Christmas Party

At a hotel on Bourbon Street

The image of her body on top of me rattles in my brain like rape

I remember how she insisted on the condom

I remember her anger at showing me in public

When we went downstairs for the dinner

I remember how clueless I was of what she was about to announce 
The unreadable beast was soon to devour me in courtrooms

I think of this decade since

This so long untouched skin

I want to feel safe

Like there ever was a place

Timid for coquetry in this Me-Too era

I want to play

Patience from the other seems so short

To get to know these cheeks

Like rusted bicycle spokes unridden left out in the rain

Sometimes I put my fingers to brushing up from the neck

Washing up to forehead, closing my eyes

Dreaming that this is not my limb

That the whole universe is one big thing

So it is like even in this dark house at eight p.m.

I am not alone.
Laughter percolates in a tussle of permanent loneliness

Naked honesty since thirteen that this predictable

Early death, unattended cremation outcome keeps materializing

The deadliness in sex, fear in touch

The consequential atrocities of an untouched human body   

Thoughts with Hands over Eyes

I just want to feel safe.

Hungry Corpse

I find a vampiric hunger for the sacred feminine

That is inside this masculinity monstrous

Hedging passage into the suicidal,

For this untouched muscle is a living death

To hold conversation expressing feeling

Without the belief of perceived transmogrification

Into the lot of stalker or internet comment section hunchback

Smattered in either indifference or ignominious castigation

Isolate into the self-talk, the closet of silence

Knowing the ringing Tinnitus, the vertigo illusions

Of wanting to feel greenery inside

The cobwebbed shadowed compartments of post-divorce Me-Too America

The over-abundance of caution in dating the nation of the once sexually abused

The reluctance to initiate coquetry without this hedge maze of consent

Inside one’s psyche that says, “She does not really even want to be here.”

Knowing I could be fooled for a decade of a marriage and not know

There is an anchor in me, a carving tool of metal plunked to the sea floor

Clawed in through hurricane and rig explosion

A deep-well Louisiana oil muck

The Kraken that fled me into the cavern of atheism

Safety in nonbelief

That there ever was a plan

Merely billiard ball mathematics

In the countless tears to the empty side of the bedrock

Crying out as if there was a nest of breasts to lay my cheek

These eyes at rest in fathomless softness

So foreign to manhood that this body shakes in caked on metal

Armored skin to breathe in and out without fidget

My body becomes ever isolationist

Statuesque dehumanized in such unipolar sensorial intake

An inner world of convalescence tasting compassion like contraband whiskey

The slow sip of old fashioned bitters in a gentleman’s agreement

Hope shall not enter here

I am not allowed to be an injured thing

I am to be a hunter, confident in a world of monsters

Daring to say I would like to get to know you

Is the talk of flowered men stomped and castrated

Be a devourer, comment on the deliciousness of women

Boast of rapaciousness, bulge and detach serpentine jaw

Slide maw, disclose nothing and ask, “Do you want hear The Snake story?”

I know the terror in misplaced hope.

The moved-away, the absent invitations

The wanting to kill myself dogeared pages

The prayers for any kind of response

The rut of libraries and skipped school lunches

The fear of the sitting in a large space

Building up skin to learn how to go everywhere alone

To accept this is how life was likely always to be

I remember the anticipation in knowing when the jig is up

When the other party you so wish to believe

Will help break the pattern can smell the desperation on you

Recycling the exquisite silence

The bubbled garbled speech

Wrinkled oddity

Hours that go by like descending pillared prison bars from heaven’s cackle

Splintering perception through which one perceives one more soul off limits

Choice of sequestered silence absent explanation or interest

In how another is feeling to interface with commensurate presence

The immensity of disproportionate valuation registers

Like water to a desert or rainforest dweller

So it is the nature of things

These mirages

Always so hungry mouthing phantasms of hope

In dead bodies