Friday 26 June 2015

Stand Up

I’m done with being part of a generation
obsessed with image manipulation;
where sport is exercise and not recreation
and beauty is obtained through starvation.

Aren’t we tired of teaching our daughters
that it’s better to be a listener than a talker;
that it’s okay to order ‘just water’ and
follow the latest fad diet of a pauper.

And what can we do about our sons?
Who watched their beautiful mums
talk about needing to lose a tonne
and what on earth could be done?

Where do our children learn self love,
if they don’t learn it from the adults above?
When perfection is all we speak of
and insecurity fits us like a glove.

We have got stop sucking our cheeks in
and fixating on being stick-thin;
stop chucking nourishment in the nearest bin
in a misguided attempt to fit in.

Our bones belong on the inside
and we need that food we’re trying to hide
and so does every other person worldwide
who’s try’na lose weight for people they can’t abide.

You shouldn’t want to fit into a society
that values you just for looking pretty.
When you think about it, isn’t it a pity,
that self-care is such a rarity?

Don’t you think that it’s backwards
that people think that your size matters;
even if your mental health lies in tatters
doesn’t conforming to it all leave you shattered?

If it does put your hands up,
so for a minute we can back up.
And this phenomenon can be just a hiccup
on our way to the love we’re trying to develop

for our bodies and our faces without makeup;
because these beauty standards are messed up.
So I ask you, does our culture make you fed up?
Because, if it does you should stand up.

Thursday 4 June 2015

(Love Doesn't Hurt)

You tell me that you’re loving
when you’re acting so cruel;
you’ve got space in my heart
but I need you to move.

Thursday 21 May 2015

Sunday 17 May 2015

We're all crazy here.

She bled from her eyes
                  until she saw blood red skies.
Hold tight. Don’t (let) go.
Oh she -
            an exorcism of the physical kind.
With skin that wasn’t breathable,
                                         demons began to choke.
                      Hold tight, my dear
                      we’re all crazy here.

Say something.


Friday 1 May 2015

Fatal

It was a red string
that tugged us together.
When I was lost
you were point B; base camp.
When you were crying for an echo
I could be a reflection.
Cool glass in my own two hands
fate incarnate.
But string is string
and life is sharp
the pain was twisting
and you ran away –
it’s too much strain
to put on a little, red string.
(And I think you know that).

Sunday 19 April 2015