Bite MeBite Me: An Analysis of the Myth of Woman in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight
Since being published in 2005, Stephenie Meyer's Twilight has gone from just another young adult fantasy novel to a cult phenomenon that has gripped millions of readers of all ages. When a piece of literature becomes as widespread as Twilight, it becomes especially important to examine the messages it is sending to its readers many of whom, in Twilight's case, are impressionable young women. By applying a feminist lens to the novel and examining it in terms of Simone de Beauvoir's myth of woman, it is revealed that Twilight is a hotbed of antifeminist sentiment, from the skewed balance of power to the simple fact that none of the women in the novel are employed. If only because of the book's wide range of impact due to its bloated and romance-blinded fan base, it is important to take de Beauvoir's advice for viewing literature and expose how the myth of woman is perp
fairytales"Mira, if you don't open this door this instant, I'm going to break through your window."fairytales4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Peter, I'm reading."
"Tell me something I don't know. I'm serious. Open the door. We're going out. As in outside. As in into the real world."
"I can't. I'm just getting"
"To the good part. I know. And I don't really care right now. For the last time, open the door."
"No, Peter! I'm sick of you telling me what to do."
"You're being unfair, and we both know it. There's only one thing I ever tell you to do and you ignore me anyways, so it's irrelevant."
"I reserve the right to make my own judgments. I'm an adult."
"No, you're not. You're like some starry-eyed kindergartener. Stuck inin a fairytale world!"
"Then my fairytale world suits me just fine."
"Mira. Please. The rest of the world is moving on without you. Grow up."
"You know what's unfair, Peter Killinger? You telling me to 'grow up' all the time when you only treat me like a little kid!"
"Don't slam things around. What are
The 13 Ways of The Tidesi.The 13 Ways of The Tides5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'd love to harmonize in a beautifully
choreographed act, swimming in intricate
patterns and never the same circles.
Do you not feel the waves of water and sound?
The current was so strong, rip tides
had only the right ideas,
taking us where we went.
Apart, apart, apart.
Never swim against the undertow.
It is all-knowing, it understands
the proper path.
I have lessons to learn from the tides.
Our ideas went up, down, up, down,
under control of the sun and moon.
We used to count the months differently.
I used to mark off days by suns.
We watched them sink, together.
Any tide, any sunset, is never the
same as the ones that came before,
before, before, and all that will come.
Endless nights of emerging stars
taught me of change and to
expect everything from the world,
but never expect anything from anyone.
You're like sand dunes,
rising up and down.
Highs and lows.
I'm not up for the climb.
No scrambling up your
slippery, sandy slope
Across the OceanI stood outside in the rain today. I know it sounds cliché, but the steady drumming of raindrops drowned out the beat of my heart and I swear I could hear you crying.Across the Ocean4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I've never felt as complete as I did then.
Let's just pretend that you didn't break my heart. I'll bandage my bleeding knuckles and go find that fake smile you left behind.
I won't be lonely. We'll pretend I'm happy standing outside in the wet; these are raindrops, not tears. I'll give you every excuse I have to offer, and someday when the rain clouds disappear I'll realize that I'm just talking to the sky.
I've run out of words, you know. I can feel it.
When it started raining last night I burned all of my poetry books. Page by page. I can only remember one line:
I know just how it feels
to think of the right thing to say too late.When I think of the right words, I'll write them down. And leave them for the next broken-hearted boy to set on fire.
Writers BlockIt begins with a pen and a thought.Writers Block6 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
You hold the pen in your hand, poising it above your page, as you shift through your never-ending thoughts. Each one trying to grab your attention, to be the one that is chosen, but you want something. . . Right. But no matter how many thoughts and ideas you go through you just can't find it. The pressure of all these useless thoughts begins to build up inside your skull. They are pushing each other around, trying to be heard. They smash against the walls, and your head is throbbing, and starts ache.
You know! You bloody well KNOW that the right thought is in there somewhere! There's just too many other noisy thoughts getting in the way. Of course, it would have to be the one to hide itself, deep in the dark vacant corners of your mind. It probably feels like it has to be there so it doesn't get trampled by the others. Poor perfect idea, unable to venture forth and give itself a chance to be chosen in fear that it would get destroyed or taint
mind over mattermind over matter5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"you have no power over me."
oh, what a lie.
because he is barely touching her--no, he never touches her, only his fingers a breath away from her skin, only his lips warm by her ear, only the strange wild scent of him around her--
he never touches her, but already, as always, she is threatening to shake apart. she can feel the tremors starting, deep, bone-deep from the places in herself that she was born afraid of, from the dark recesses where once she swore she would never go.
not with him.
but no matter the promises she made to herself, no matter the bravery she once possessed, she was wrong. she has always been wrong. because she's possessed, now, possessed by his radiance, by the warmth of his body behind hers, by the hot sweet whispers of magic that he breathes with every word.
she's run so long, so far. and still every night he finds her, walks out of the storm bright with magic and power and she can't resist him, she never could. fear him--she does. love him--she must. do
he rationed his breathshe rationed his breaths6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
In the ICU she promised she would be back no later than July first, and of course she would visit as soon as she docked.
That was the last promise she ever made him. Her boat was delayed four days.
ten years ago.ten years ago iten years ago.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
knew i was still
a romantic because
my dreams were still
filled with white dresses
and golden rings and
now, i know i am
a skeptic because
i am haunted by
and heated passion
and the faces
real, too real.
againso here i am crying over the silliest things andagain4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
falling in love with the stupidest. there is you pressing too far into my shoulder
and me loving it. there is you looking at me a little too long. this is me
forever trying to crawl out of the countless graves i have dug painstakingly.
but you are not what i expected. you are small.
and this is disappointment
Parentheses All Clicking Shuti.Parentheses All Clicking Shut4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Let's say you have a story. Let's say you have a page where there should be a story, but the paper is empty and the inkstains are fresh on your tongue and the words keep diving back into your throat every time you try to speak or write. Remember, darling, when you told me that a bare book is like the faces of newly-made angels? You used to have something for this: a shallow well inside your chest where you could put the thoughts and the silence and the prayers and other forgotten things and every time you needed something beautiful I would reach inside and pull it out for you. But it's gone now, the well and the water and whatever else was in it. Everything is gone.
I once was a writer too, you know, back before there were things like castles and dragons and fairytales and true love always ended in flames. I built a story built a world built a kingdom, a forest filled with arrow-backed saplings and leaves swimming in golden light, the sun gliding down to illuminate the dark patc
i won the flies with vinegar0.i won the flies with vinegar4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I am writing this whatever about Friday and weed and red bull and very-much-so-alive people. I spend too much time fantasizing. Mostly about sticking things in electrical sockets and dropping my blowdryer in the sink while I'm brushing my teeth, how my body would shake and shudder, how no one would see my blue eyes as they roll back to see the projections in the back of my eyes. I would fall, and smell maybe even of charred flesh. Every time I go down the stairs I am to blame for my mother's miscarriages.
Maybe even stars.
So, this is a whatever about weed and stars.
It is Friday and I am scared. I am full of conviction and sorrow. Because when I look at you, I see how you betrayed me. I see Stephen in the reflections of your wishing well eyes. Your eyes are the original wishing well eyes. I see me brutally beaten, I see you not being there. I see apologetic look from you, but from everyone else it is just judgemental. Friday is my least favourite day of the week because of this
theologyi don't believe in Godtheology5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but if i did he would be the kind of God that wouldn't forgive us until we forgave ourselves first
he wouldn't judge us according to all that we've done wrong, rather he would weigh our sins against the things we did right
the people we helped rather than those we hurt
the ones we were able to truly love rather than those that loved us
there wouldn't be any heaven or hell the way the Bible tells it, oh no
heaven wouldn't be fluffy clouds and rays of light and harps and hallelujahs
after we die we would go back to that moment in our lives we can all remember where everything still made sense
before we finally felt the burdens of life
and stay there for as long as we wished.
in hell we would go back to the defining moment in our lives where we condemned ourselves (because some things are just unforgivable)
and we would get the chance to do it all over again (but only one)
because everyone deserves a second chance (even in dea
Le vent du coeurI pretendLe vent du coeur4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the pulse of rain
is a lullaby
when I say your name
it feels like
thunder in my lungs
and the howling wind,
sings me to sleep.
It's okay to have cheesecakeI get overwhelmed quickly if there's too much of something,It's okay to have cheesecake7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That's why I steer clear of long lists
I hate Dora the Explorer.
We like TV, but it doesn't make us happy.
So why do we spend hours in front of it
Instead of doing things we like?
TV is a narcotic. We're addicted.
I'm compulsive. I inhale food.
I don't want it. I'm not hungry.
I need more.
I have no self control.
I act on impulse.
If I want something, I need it now.
I'm obsessive. I have intrusive thoughts
About death and scary images.
I stayed up late to watch a show that I thought would be good.
But I still watched it.
I like even colors, numbers and days of the week.
Yellow, green, orange, white.
2, 4, 6, 8.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday.
It doesn't make a difference though.
It's just being irrational.
I complain about washing dishes.
But I don't mind it.
I sort the dishes in a certain way.
Spoons, forks, and knives first.
Little plates, medium size plates, big pl
EPIC: they make outThe wineglass slid out of his fingers to break with a crunch on the foot of the table.EPIC: they make out4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Oh, come on," she said, exasperated. "Now we're going to have to clean--"
Robin didn't finish her sentence before he lurched out of his seat and towards her, and she had time for one squeak of protest before he grabbed her waist and kissed her.
Appalled, she said, "Matthew!" and tried ineffectually to shove him away, but then suddenly she tasted the wine on his lips, and any resistance she'd felt melted away into a heady haze. She could feel his mouth insistent on hers, his tongue on her lips, the wine-laced tang of his breath. His hands were hot at her sides, firm and possessive, and she reached up to touch his face. He was, suddenly, unspeakably handsome. He hadn't always been so good-looking, had he?
Matthew, breathing hard, wrenched away from her and pushed her back a few steps, until she was up against the edge of the bed, prevented from falling only by his hands on her waist. He pulled her hip
Confession FourThe sad fact of the matter is,Confession Four5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm running out of ways
To describe you in
Safe as Houses"Ready, Grace?" James calls from upstairs, and I check the jury-rigged circuits in front of me once more. Everything looks right. I check again, just in case.Safe as Houses4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Ready!" I call back, pulling my jacket tighter around me against the chill. What with the more necessary safety adaptations, few people bother with things like heat anymore although as winter approaches, survival will become dependent on that as well. I wonder if the van's heat is still functional.
"Plugging in!" James yells.
There's a moment of silence and I cross my fingers, hoping this won't be the time that I do it wrong and cause the entire house to go up in flames. There's a loud crack like a lightning strike and cheers come from upstairs. I close the circuit breaker box and emerge from the basement to join the rest of the team upstairs. James, Nick and Lisa are all clustered at the bay window, which has been fitted with heavy iron bars. There is another electrical crack from the front yard and the smell of burnt ha
Michigan summers.It is dusk and we are tired, or maybe this is the sunrise and we've been here all night, sharing stolen white rum and cigarettes and secrets. We lose time in this field in the hills, when our parents think we're sleeping but we are climbing too-tall trees and howling with coyotes and telling ourselves that tonight, we can be complete again. We are blood, this boy and I, we are natives in a sea of pilgrims and we do not yet speak their tongue; we are the dark eyed children who scream at night when they can no longer hear.Michigan summers.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As our smoke clears, I tell him the names of every constellation my crippled mind can remember and he tells me that six hours away, a girl is pregnant and he doesn't love her. He sings me a song of our childhood, and I tell him what it's like to be in love when no one else can know. We forget we're too old for this, and cry along side the crickets while for one second, the world stops turning beneath us. In this moment, we can pretend we are eight again, sobbing over s
Like an Unfinished Love PoemShe calls him a poet but in truth he's just a dreamer with too many words in his head. He doesn't believe that he's fallen in love so he pretends to be a lovestruck stranger and writes how it might feel.Like an Unfinished Love Poem4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When I touch her lips with mine,
I'm not smiling,
I'm just living.When she said goodbye her heart pounded weakly against her heavy chest. With every pulse of blood through her veins she felt tension in her wrists; she was holding back, holding back. Her breastbone still feels like the wall of a jail cell her heartbeat thumping wildly like a prisoner begging to be freed. She wants to rip off her jacket because she's burning up inside.
She was full of empty goodbyes and dreams that didn't last long enough.
I've never been in love.
Don't you think I would know
how it feels?
My body's a wreck,
my eyes are stained with tears
my heart is hot underneath my skin.
I wonderNow that she's gone he's finally started to fall apart. It feels l
longmy hair is shorterlong4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
i made scars longer instead
are you happy now?
Life in SpiteLife is a promise to be broken,Life in Spite4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Death is a privilege left unspoken.
untitledi could never achieve anything more stupid than this. this is the fold in the page that your elbow kissed when you brushed my words away and laid down so that all i could hold was your breath, hot and terrifying against the place i despise most. you thought to do this once and only once and i will say that i do not want this ever again. i do not want to be the one ripple in a sea fighting against the shore. i do not want to be dragged against the sand and sharp rocks or weighed down with this salt. every night that i am alone, i leave this place. i'm pounding faster against the coast, the footfalls erased in each angry beat of the ocean. every step builds my ship higher and i promise you that i will be leaving. my sails will take me. you will not be my anchor.untitled4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
beautifulthe lilacs are out. you look beautiful barefoot, andbeautiful4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are beautiful sweating out a beat. opening like
the lilacs, baring your teeth and forcing out pieces
of pure soul.
you move like a willow, breathe into my neck in a way
that no metaphor could describe. hot and sweaty
and lying against me, you are your beautiful
fury and my own hidden rage leaping out and
holding our bodies together. your muscles melt
into me. our fingers are touching and there is a
heartbeat between them. i do not know whose it
is and it just about breaks my heart (but perfectly so)
i feel your blood pounding. your hips dig into me
i hope it bruises
counting to infinity i.counting to infinity5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
capitalization is bad for days like this, because when the sky is gray who needs grammar? grammar is rules and rules are a box, a great glass box with no seamsseamless, faultless, perfect, unbreakablelike rules are supposed to be. rules are what kill you, because the words are like light, they bounce away from the glass and are lost.
but if you are content without the words then rules are what save you, because too far from that box and you are not safe anymore; you will be shot at, you are a target, and you will never run fast enough to hide from sound like bullets. the box is a cage and a shield, both at once, like halves of a circle. impossible, unfathomable, like truth always is.
sound travels at three hundred and forty-three meters per second, faster than you can throw something even as small as a me