Weighting

She is happy

Boppy

Talkative over an empty cup of coffee

She descended downstairs to the bathroom and us as a crowd

Were not as loud

At the foot of the stairs she returned

And every preconception burned

I could tell she was paper thin

But no one heard her call food a sin

 

She wrapped up her smile

In her pocket was where it was kept

Saving it for the triumph

Called the top step

There are no words to iterate

No diction to explain

The lack of energy she had moving

How each step was tackled with such strain

How skin and bone clutched onto the hand rail

But she was on her feet and refused to be beat

She promised herself she would witness defeat

As often as she would eat

And she ascended

Sitting comfortably in her seat

Asking about the crowd absent of her

And how it did fare

I was not looking forward to my trip home

Buses trams and walking to get there

But her tired tired wings had so much more

They had a flight of stairs

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Exist on our tongues

This is Faceless Frank. Slenderman’s shorter nephew who is a hell of a lot cheaper to hire than his uncle. Thanks Frank.

So I want to talk about talking. I’ve been told that what I talk about is surprising sometimes. Either because of my age, gender or something else. And half of me hates this. I love the looks I get when I bring these topics up, but I don’t like how rare these subjects are spoken of. I want a place where these actions are as regular as showering (not everyone does it, but you get weird looks if you don’t. And you probably smell funny). For instance, I’ve been told guys like myself will not utter a word about one topic, period.

I was with a group of friends who were talking about their periods. And seeing an opportunity, I said “Hey, can I ask a few questions, because I have no idea how to help when a girl is on her period”? There was shock and awe on the table. I felt like I was about to be anointed into a cult. I’d nearly say the lights dimmed, and everyone on the table leaned in close.

One my friends said “Do you really want to know about this”? Of course I did. Most of my guy friends only say one thing when it comes to periods; I should take a tactical leave of the country when it happens. But I needed to know this because I am related to women, I make friends with women, and get girlfriends on (rare) occasions.

The only reason you shouldn’t ask about Auntie Floe’s visits is if you are a guy surrounded by only guys until the day you die. (If this is your situation, I have a few questions, like: How does that differ from modern day society/ Can I crack open a few cold ones with you guys this weekend/ How does it feel knowing your tribe of testosterone will die out in a generation’s time?) And this knowledge puts you in great books with women, because it’s a rarity (when it shouldn’t be). So while this is a barely tapped market, you may as well avail of it. I’ll share three tips I was told, but you’ll have to learn the rest yourself as every period is different for everyone.

Hot water bottles are mandatory. Especially ones with the fur coating, like a tea-cosy. And if she can’t go out herself, someone needs to buy the supplies. (And before I get guys who’d rather leave a woman to buy that kind of stuff, think on this: If you’re chemistry was being dicked around like it was a pharmacy being run by a blind intern, would you be able to go outside so easily?) Another tip I was given was chocolate. Enough said.

But while I was taking notes with these girls, I said none of this should be that rare. And it won’t be if we talk about it. If there are topics that are issues, then it stands to reason that these should be the issues of friends/family. Burdens shared and all that jazz. And since we’re talking about issues, let’s talk about mental health issues. (It took me three months to think of that segway. It’s not going to get much better than that.)

I keep colourful company. Red yellow and green characters too grand for any story written. Problem is, they aren’t always bright colours. And in my time befriending people who were blue, I became very good as an open ear. Break-ups, Trump, a death in the family, they call me. Give me a bottle of coke and a packet of cigarettes, and there isn’t a dark night in creation that can stand against us.

But sometimes I’m the only contact in someone’s phone who they can call. That is just heart-breaking. This should be talk in a café. If I came to you, said “I miss my brothers/ I dropped my ice cream/ Life is treating me like I forgot the safe word” would that be so unknown that we wouldn’t talk about it? I don’t think so, but we act like it shouldn’t be spoken of. And that is mind blowing.

If it exists in our lives, it should exist on our tongues. We need to start somewhere so why not here and now? When I’m offering an open ear in a deaf world, I’m trying to set a trend. We’ll all be healthier with more of those stories told. I want talking about our problems to be as regular as ordering a coffee. Either that, or we should flip it on its head, and make ordering a coffee as taboo as talking about dark days.

 

“Can I get a coffee”?

What!? Here? Now? Are you serious”?

“Dude, it’s just a coffee”.

“Ok ok. Here. Just keep it out of sight, ok? Next you’ll want sugar as well”.

“Three please”.

“Are you fucking kidding me”!?

I’ll tell you a little secret: sometimes, hundreds spent on therapy doesn’t match to a friend seeing you have a world and a half of storms between your ears. And that friend saying “Coffee”?

Society determines what is taboo and what isn’t. Aren’t we society? We should be talking about everything, everywhere, except the cinema. Everyone who talks in the cinema should be flown into the sun. Anyways, I’ve been chatting for long enough. It’s your turn now.

The Fifth Witch

Author’s Note: This piece was written in response to a photo, which can be found here

If you would like to see more of the photographer’s work (and I would highly recommend him), you can do so here

Five witches gave birth to the elements

Earth air fire and water

Dressed to represent their children

But the fifth witch bore a child unknown to this planet

Naming her progeny Void

Space

That which comes before birth and after death

All released from her child will come to be

All her descendant takes back will cease

Praised as the giver of life

As she controls all before it is

Neither witch nor man can depart her company

Without returning someday

 

None can name any who opposed her

For how can someone be named

When they suddenly never were

Pokédate

pokemon-go

Dropping a lure was the perfect lonliness cure

I caught a Pikachu

A Jinx

And you

You’re as pretty and rare as Mew

And I hoped I could be your Mew too

I must have had a lucky egg in my inventory

Because this could be the perfect love story

So we share locations for poké stops and gyms

And you ask is there a her as I ask is there a him

We smile and decide to hatch these ten kilometer eggs with company

So we’re walking and talking when suddenly

You see a gym and dive into action with a Butterfree

And I say that gym is already taken by me

It says on your phone that it’s ruled by Valor but you must have missed it”

Then you broke my heart when you said you were Team Mystic

I can’t believe we Pokédated

Mystic is overrated

Valor is this gyn’s ruler

Articuno may be cold but Moltres is cooler

You can try and take that gym but I won’t let it be

Our love has fainted

And so will your Butterfree

It’s all about the volume

Treat your music like your drink

It’s all about the volume

Treat yourself to the burning in the back of your throat

From the perfect tune

The barman is making screaming eargasms

Making your heart beat and your legs stupid

Bacchus is on the dance floor

Shifting the face off Cupid

So get your earphones

Let the shot go to your head

The music says worry about tomorrow

When you’re dying in bed

To choose your drink

Pick your song

We are young

And the night is long

shot glass