Way back in my day all men were real men,
We weren’t scared to help we weren’t insecure,
We were all open books but just make sure
You don’t look to come to me for advice,
About mental health or about your vice.
I’m here for you let’s be crystal clear.
I can help you if your car can’t change gear,
Or if you have a problem with the steer,
If it fails to start when you turn the key,
I’m here man, don’t worry, I have jump leads.
I told you, man, I’m always here for you,
Just don’t get the situation confused,
I don’t mean to be insincere or rude
But that feelings stuff is a load of muck.
Life is always rough, so men must be tough,
We like girls, cars and explosions and stuff,
We like fighting, football and monster trucks.
We like manly-men, men-who-don’t-feel-men,
Not as in men who don’t like to feel men,
More men-who-can’t-express-how-they-feel-men.
When I was young I was the biggest fan of being “a man”,
Of being strong and never crying, because that is wrong.
Of football games and internalising pain from things that "shouldn’t hurt".
Until one day when I was sitting on my bed,
I was crying, and not because I banged my head,
Or not because of what someone said,
Or not because that character in Toy Story was dead,
But for no reason.
I just felt sad.
My Mother came in the door, looked at me,
And swore that everything was okay.
I said “I’m sorry for crying,
I don’t know what’s wrong with me today,
I just feel upset.”
She said, “Son, there hasn’t been a man yet
Who hasn’t cried because they were sad,
Most of them just don’t say.”
And see I cried in my mothers arms that day,
And I don’t see how that could have done me any harm,
To know that when I feel upset it is okay to cry.
We don’t have to put up a front and try
To act like “men” and seem just fine
When in reality we’re constantly balancing on a line
Between fear of people’s perception of us as soft
And having our emotions engulf us and finding ourselves lost.
Our culture causes confusion for little boys
Who think they have to play with army toys
And get in fights with other tikes to show their “manliness” and might,
Until their spite builds up inside them, so tight,
That it explodes down the line
When we say we’re fine
But really inside exists a mine of insecurity.
Because toxic masculinity is a sin to me
And leads to bigotry and other stupidity like
Rigidity and conformity to chauvinistic and sexist normalities.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 3:41 PM UTC
Try putting on someone else's shoes.
Sometimes they might fit,
If coincidentally they just so happen
To be the same size as yours.
But they probably won’t be.
You see you’ll try to squeeze in their trainers,
And then complain that all you felt was pain
When your thumb got squashed when you tried to peel
It out from under your heel
But you just brush it off like it’s no big deal.
Everyone’s feet are different, and it would be ignorant
To presume that yours could fit in everyone’s shoes.
Some people’s kicks are fresh and new
And when you weirdly smell them
You realise they don’t even smell like shoe.
Just make sure you’re alone in a safe location
So you don’t end up in the familiar situation
With your friend standing there looking at you,
With his Vans in your hand and your nose in his shoes.
Some people rock the high heel look,
But bear in mind this won’t suit everyone all the time;
Some people are scared of not sporting socks.
Some people’s caved arches cause hardship
When they try to cavort carelessly.
6 inches is a sensitive subject for some sensitive subjects
Who would rather dismember their member than
Tamper with their outward image of masculine male muscle man.
It is okay to not have one size fits all feet.
It’s more of a feat to have unique toes
That don’t form normal rows, trust me.
Stand out from the crowd like a mic-drop on karaoke night.
Or when you buy too-small flip-flops and your baby toe
Decides to take it’s own path in life.
No two feet were created the same but all feet are equal.
That means everyone under the sun can rest assured,
Because we all have secured a place in the foot-halls of fame.
And we have all left our footprint in the footnotes of history.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC
Walking fast on the street and trying to pass a stranger that you meet
You pace right and he goes left
But his left and your right are the same
So you turn back the other way
And so does he
And your paths meet on the same plane, again
Or when you meet an acquaintance,
An annoyance,
Someone you don’t care to keep in your correspondance
And you foolishly stop them, make eye contact,
And say “Long time, no see, Tim”
And both Tim and you know this is small talk;
Teeny Tiny talk,
Tiny Wincy, terse, torturous talk
Teemed to the top with
Trying-To-Remember-Times-Together or
Things-That-Tim-Likes-To-Do-To-Tie-His-Terrible-Life-Together
So you start it with the classic “Jesus, it’s great weather.”
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
When I escaped at first I was happy, but afraid,
Freedom's furry tail rubbed my ego back into the ether.
As a solo traveller my new path had been laid,
Doubtless I needed no companion either.
But then you returned from outer space,
Out of sight but never out of my mind.
You stole my heart and left no trace,
And now I've left the solo life behind.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
Feeling fragile can be hard to handle,
Fragile like a piece of glass on a mantle,
Like a crooked hook that would break if shook,
But look; if we took these weak knees
And straightened them
And wrapped them up in styrofoam,
And made sure we took care of them,
Then maybe they'd feel better then.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
The useless truth is being ruthless doesn't suit your kind of movement, stupid
But don't let that stop your bravado or make you stop and swallow the plans you already made for tomorrow,
But what you'll gain from sprouting out my name won't be the same as what we had before,
So continue on your petty game
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC
When I think back on that night I always laugh.
I probably shouldn't, but I do.
I laugh at our conversation on the stairs,
Lying on the cold, wet ground,
Just laughing at each other.
I laugh when I imagine us not knowing each other
At the start of the year and how,
When I talked to you, neither of us
Knew what one thought of the other.
I laugh because that seems so far away.
Because now when I talk to you it seems
Like we've known each other forever.
Like there was never a time when I stood
Awkwardly in front of you,
At someone's house who I didn't know,
With a drink in my hand trying not
To make a complete fool of myself to you.
I laugh when I imagine how funny
We must have looked that night.
How the birds or the sky must have looked down
On two drunken kids falling through a gate,
Telling each other things they would regret
The next day, or month.
I laugh when I imagine how "scandalous" it all was.
How for months after we would look back and smile
On that day, and wonder how we ever got to this point.
Now it all seems so far away;
Sitting in Smokies after the library,
(Only for 20 minutes though because
I need to get up early tomorrow, seriously Lochlan),
The hot chocolate rendezvous (definitely not dates),
Or sitting in Moyola with Morg and Meg,
Laughing at how ridiculous we all are.
I laugh at how ridiculous it all was,
And I wouldn't change it for the world.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 8:09 PM UTC
The thought of leaving you grows near now,
But I shall return.
And while I'm gone others will replace me.
I hope they appreciate you as I do.
I hope they look out on you and feel what I felt,
And I hope they go home and try to put it into words,
But can't. As I have.
I hope you change their lives, as you have for me.
I hope they build and destroy with you, as I have.
I do not want to be away from you and what you hold for me,
But it is not you who controls that. You are merely a vessel.
You carry with you my hopes and dreams,
My love and fear,
And that scares me. I have invested in you.
I tore away years for you, years I will never see back.
You have changed me.
I am different to who I was before, or so they say.
But they are gone now and it is you who stands before me.
You and those who you carry. Those ideas and attitudes and experiences.
I have to leave you soon, but I will return.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
At the bus depo the old man stood waiting
And was too hot in his brown chord trousers
And brown tweed cap.
The others stood along the wall
Beside the man; a woman with a pram,
The young people in shorts waiting to get the bus
To go to somewhere nicer than this, to swim and play
And laugh. But not the old man.
He smoked a lonely cigarette and watched as the others
Walked onto the bus to leave the depo,
To go to a seaside town or quiet village or anywhere
That wasn't this concrete aisle for lonely journeys.
The old man left the depo on his bus alone,
And after he was gone the buses continued to run,
Children continued to laugh and other old men
Felt too hot in brown chord trousers and brown tweed caps.
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 7:13 AM UTC
If I were firece and bald and short of breath
I'd be the headmaster of a secondary school.
A spotted face boy cries "fight, fight, fight!"
A scrap has begun outside the school.
Greasy adolescents hurry to the scene
To find a boy - bloodied - face down in the gravel.
Instead of showing sympathy,
they portray their callous nature.
The mob-mentality reigns supreme
As he is mocked and jeered by ***** fingers
Of adolescent monkeys.
Meanwhile, in the corridors of the school
A sea of gray sways, as agitated 6th years
Barge their way through piles and piles
Of nervous first years.
Sweaty fingers clutch chewed-on pens,
Taking down their futures from the board.
The vacant stare of the class fool is aimed toward
The blank, unpainted walls.
Were they ever painted?
Or did god create them bland?
The footworn halls of our totalitarian dictatorship
Are kept active only by the zealous actions of our 'noble' teachers.
Every morning they arrive at a job they resent,
And see teachers whose eyes mirror their despair,
Then they feign a smile and proceed
With the monotonous task of teaching
Brain-dead, narcissistic, trogleydtes.
Exciting.
"All in all we're all just bricks in the wall."
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC