I found perfection in a glance. I lost it with a second look.

You tell your son that he can fly.

Fasten on his bright red cape

and tell him he can defy

gravity;

tell him that he is above

all the rules.

Hurl him up into the sky like a plane;

faster than a speeding bullet

and more powerful than a train.

And you say:

"All your enemies are villains,

all your impulses are just,

all your own beliefs are true

and there's nothing you can't do

(so do whatever you must)

and there's nothing you can't be!"

(Except a girl.

He mustn't throw like a girl

or run like a girl

or cry like a girl

or smell like a girl

or dance like a girl

or think like a girl

or look like a girl

or sound like a girl

or care like a girl.

He must be a man of steel.

Invulnerable.)

You tell him that he's always right,

that stubborn equals strong.

Tell him that he is the good guy

and the others are all wrong.

Tell him that girls can be victims

or they can be sweet rewards;

tell him that they can be monsters too

and that we'll all applaud

when he puts them right back in their place

(a grave, a fridge, a bed).

Tell him he is strong and true and brave

in his bright cloak of red.

But

You tell your daughter to be good.

Say her red cape needs a hood.

(She should cover up her hair.)

Tell her she must not defy

anyone.

Tell her she must keep her feet

on the ground.

Tell her that she must stay small;

must be fragile as a poppy,

must be lovely as a rose,

must be pliable as willow

never tread on any toes.

Tell her service is a virtue

(tend to granny, bake and sew);

tell her HER dreams should be humble

(oh the places she'll not go).

Tell her she must be desirable

(though that makes her a whore);

tell her it will all be her fault,

what the old wolf has in store.

Tell her that she needs a big strong man

to save her from herself,

and her hymen is more precious

than her heart, her mind, her health.

Tell her she can not be trusted

to make choices of her own,

and male senators should dictate

what can happen to her womb.

Tell her she must be conformable,

obedient and sweet;

for curiosity will call up wolves

and mark her as their meat.

If she steps into the forest

and does not do what she's told,

if she drops her red cloak on the grass

and thinks she can be bold,

if she leaves her hair uncovered,

goes adventuring instead

then tell her she had it coming

when they find her hurt or dead.

Because girls cannot be heroes

only victims, only fools,

only prizes handed over to some prince laden with jewels.

You tell your daughter to be careful

to be grateful, chaste and shy

and abandon any dreams of flying up there in the sky.

(But I

whisper in her ear

that girls can be woodcutters,

big bad wolves and witches,

that girls can be princesses

or scientists; that bitch is

what they'll call her

when she frightens them

by failing to give in;

that there are many different kinds of hood

and curiosity's no sin;

that she may be gobbled up

if she ventures out alone

but some wolves will wear woodcutter's clothes;

she needs a sharp blade of her own.)

"Do you see the shiny part on the upper left side? It's so intense, it's like ... it's like this mix of blood and raspberry syrup. It's so obvious that he used less syrup in the middle, this bloody touch makes it so dark. The focus stays in the middle, it's so marvellous, I can't stop looking at it."

"Are you serious?"

"Oh my god and the strong line around it! What an amazing brushwork technique, do you see it? On the bottom right side, where the line gets thinner ... it's like he wanted to say that every life line has ups and downs but if you stay focused, you get over the bad moments over and over again ... wow, what an amazing piece of art."

"Dude, calm down, it's only a red dot on a white sheet of paper."

Write what you know --> WRITE WHAT YOU WANT KNOWN