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I performed this at the Exeter Reclaim the Night and was asked to make a copy of it. This was therefore recorded at the end of the night, and is probably a bit rubbish as I was KNACKERED from organising everything. Still, here it is.

Short Fuse:
Let me ask you this.
If I bend down, can you see my pants?
Now what makes you think you stand a chance
just cos my skirt is short?
Well so is my fuse
Anger my muse in this tiny town of
No-can-dos
Where if you shout fire people run to your aid
But if you shout rape the price is paid
in fame
and shame
and blame
Where your name is driven into the dust
along with your trust in the moment that thrust the light out of your eyes
Your demise won’t be mentioned in the local news
Because you choose to keep breathing
A hundred deaths in every breath and all they can say is
‘How short was your skirt?’
Like they can measure the hurt in a plunging neckline
or how much wine you were drinking.
‘Girl, what were you thinking?
Were you walking alone?
Well next time stay at home, like you did before with those other men…
how many was it again?’
And they’ll reel them off
Memories tainted
tainted
tainted
and recall how you fainted that night in the station,
drunk no doubt,
chicks these days, huh?
No, I’m talking about DICKS these days
and the power to choose how you use your body
so if I bend down now what do you see?
My choice, my right, my liberty
To act and to speak and to dress as I please
So keep your sleaze, your thoughtless shout
Cos I have NO doubt that a change must come
and as I stand on your stage
and speak my rage
I can see it’s already
begun.

…and I hate to say it, but it’s gonna be a while yet before I get a proper blog going again. I’m off to a week of work experience now in London, at The Agency – I can’t wait, but it means I’m not going to have any free time…and then I’m off to Norwich for a week.

So I promise you, when I return from all of that I’ll be back with a vengeance. To make up for it for now, maybe you could check these guys out:

Katie Wirsing (Is rather good)

Andrea Gibson (breaks my heart)

Shira Erlichman Saul Williams (I’m not sure about him, but he has an energy that I find fascinating 🙂 )

Alvin Lau And this guy is mental

And on that note – adieu!

…and I’m afraid it’ll be quite a while still, until you get a proper blog from me. I’ve got so much on at the moment!!

But to keep you going till then, here’s a poem I have started. It needs a fair amount (A LOT) of work, but I’d be interested to hear what you think of it thus far.

I Think I Can

 

I think I can I think I can

the little train puffed

as it struggled its way up the hill.

I remember it, still,

though I heard the tale years ago –

it is a technique I have used myself.

The chant outside the exam room

I think I can I think I can

and the tired whispers of determination

I think I can I think I can

as I dragged myself around the track

a third and final time.

I thought I could, and did.

 

 

But now, it’s different.

 

 

I enter the darkened street

and the old mantra returns,

sinister now.

Can can can was what I used to hear –

now uncertainty ringing in my ears as

think think think

hits home.

Yet,

pushing my reluctant feet

that long to buckle and give in

to the footsteps close behind me,

the words play on.

Round and round

I think I can I think I can

As I catalogue each sound

I think I can I think I can

Each step ringing loud

I think I can I think I can

Chin held up and proud

I think I can I think I can

And panic deep within.

Buried beneath can and think and I and think and can

A single line within my mind

That carries me past the pub with the ‘alright love’

Down the path with the lack of streetlight

Into the park with the gangs there watching

And homewards homewards through the darkness seeping

Past loveless couples and a heartbeat quickens

Past a white lorry and the atmosphere thickens

And breath is lost until I’m far past

And still

I think I can I think I can

plays on.

 

Not I thought I could I thought I could

like the little train that could, and did,

but can can can for a future

filled with dark streets

filled with pounding feet

and a sense of defeat

as I repeat:

I think I can I think I can

ad infinitum.

 

 

 

And on that note – Adieu.

 

Wrote this for the theme ‘My Generation’, set as a challenge in creative writing. Partly for that, partly because I passed two guys doing some work on the roads and one said to the other ‘yeah, but we’re in an age where women can…’ and I hurried past, and partly cos it’s how I feel.

Enjoy.

We’re in an Age

We’re in an age

We’re of an age

The men say on the street

Where marriage is not sacred and

A woman feels complete

Without a man, her better half.

She’s two halves on her own

And where do we fit into that?

Our duties overthrown

We’re in an age

We’re of an age

The women disagree

Where spinsterhood is ridiculed

And there’s no equality

Where rape is normalised and we

Have no safe haven near

We can’t walk the streets alone, in darkness.

Every footstep whispers fear.

We’re in an age

We’re of an age

The ‘gentlemen’ insist

Where women have the right to put

Their bodies on the list

That we can buy and sell

at leisure

in a world that’s geared

towards our pleasure

We’re in an age

We’re of an age

Sigh women far and wide

where just to wear a low cut top

or take a step outside

is to provoke attack, abuse

from men that think they praise us

– but complement us on our ‘tits’?

It never ceases to amaze us.

We’re in an age

We’re of an age

Where nothing seems to change

Where women are still victimised

And end up with the blame

A time where, when it comes to rights

It’s the poor oppressed men

Who feminism has destroyed

And who must start again

Yes, we’re in an age

We’re of an age

But it’s just like all the rest

No matter how we all despair

And try to protest

There’s a time for equality

The politicians vow

But we’re in an age

We’re of an age

And nothing’s changing now.

And on that note, as ever – Adieu.

at an open mic night in Brighton. I’m quite pleased with it…

It is based upon this picture…from post secret =]


Yesterday (Inspired by a postsecret postcard)

Yesterday I tried to find god

I started deep within myself because

it’s as good a place as any to begin.

So I settled down

and looked within.

In a time of loneliness and sorrow

when my very being seemed to be hollow,

I hoped a god on side would help me through

when I was feeling low and blue.

So I tried my best to understand

how within me there resides a man

who is everything and everyone,

but I must confess that it did not take long

for my mind to wander way off track:

I was lost and there was no way back

from my thoughts of emptiness and love.

There was no voice to captivate from up above

Crying “you’ve found me now it’s your turn to hide”.

There was no answer, no shining light to guide,

No bingo! There was no grand revelation.

But determined to discover my salvation

I decided to look

in a so called holy book

hoping therein would lie the answer that I sought.

Some time later I emerged, distraught

to find misogyny had found a base

in the most vulnerable, hopeful place

within so many searching for an explanation,

longing for a perfect destination

to the journey that our lives begin.

Yet finding gods that reprimand our ‘sin’

and seek confirmation of our ‘true’ belief,

although for some it may provide relief,

seems like a faith that I can do without.

So when I look on with a sceptic’s doubt,

and see ‘gods’, husks of our imagination,

that seem to have a hold upon the nation

I cannot help but disagree

that god can tell me what to do and who to be.

And while I watch the faithful wistfully

and wish I could find consolation in the guarantee

of a life after death, that’s rich and rare,

if I’m honest I can’t say I really care,

when to find this hope I must give up my reason

and my logic and all I truly believe in.

As I value values more than what I’m taught

my beliefs held out against the god I’d sought

and revealed a passion unbeknownst to me

So yesterday I searched for god,

but my failure set me free.

And on that note – adieu.

…I can’t say I’ve got much of any interest to say I’m afraid. So have a poem instead:

Bad Times Give You Something To Talk About

 

Part of us dies with every breath

And so we breathe a living death

Each move each word penned with regret

Upon a page they’ll soon forget

Within the grand book of the world

History, herstory, each boy and girl,

Recorded, remembered until the page turns

 

Everyone lives but nobody learns

 

Positive, huh? Wrote it a while back.

 

I’m off to sleep now…I have work tomorrow and a party in the eve and rather a lot of unfinished work to do!

 

And on that note – adieu.

Flickr Photos