I am down,
I am psyched,
I am on the ball,
I am ready to rock,
I am ready to roll,
I am prepared,
I am waiting,
I am good,
I am so,
Definitely,
Absolutely,
Affirmatively,
Conclusively,
Positively,
Totally,
Truly,
Deeply,
Irrevocably,
Frustratingly,
Unapologetically
Painstakingly,
Not exactly
Not really,
Ready.
Question from Megan C. from Facebook
For the longest time,
I felt like I didn’t know how to feel.
Like I was putting on a
Pathetic attempt at empathy,
Making a poor production of sympathy
While remaining apathetic as fuck.
And It’s not that I’m a complete dickhead,
It was just my luck that I was blessed
With Asperger’s Syndrome.
So despite my prickish tendencies and
My problems with thank yous and apologies,
Please don’t think that it’s personal.
My parents bought me a pet,
And by that, I mean
They bought a family puppy
In the hopes that I would get
Feelings and friendlier and
A little bit more normal.
He was a little pettable pillow,
A warm, fuzzy, yellow
Bundle of fuzz and fluff.
And through him I learned
How to be more gentle and less rough,
And how to look after a life.
As we both grew up,
His paw prints became imprints
On my personality as he taught me
How to play and be happy,
Bringing me out of apathy
And being always there for me.
When the day came that
He was too old and too in pain to play
I was heartbroken.
My tears fell into an ocean breaking
Into tidal waves of emotion
And it was strange.
Strange because I had never
Felt this way about anything,
Leaving me wondering if I was broken
As I stared at his toys and tokens
Of his life and affection and devotion
As my family told me that it was okay.
For the longest time,
I felt like I didn’t know how to feel.
He changed that for me.
Even though I was the one training him
Fetch and heel and high five,
He was the one who was teaching me.
Teaching me how to
Smile and laugh and be happy,
Teaching me how to
Care and cry and be sad,
Teaching me how to
Feel and appreciate the time and life I have.
And for that, thank you.
You were a good boy.
Question from Jasmyne M. from Facebook
It could be because it’s because
They are the way to their destination,
Driving on a parkway on our way to park,
Parking on a drive way before it leads to the road to drive on.
And maybe this sounds like poetic drivel
And like I’m trying to drive a point home
But the truth is:
The English language doesn’t make sense.
The whole thing has gone down in flames
Because flammable and inflammable
Both mean the same.
My nose has done more running than my legs
And I’ve seen people play more football with my hands.
And don’t get me talking about spelling
Because in Scotland and England
Spelled is spelt spelt but to an American
Spelt isn’t spelled spelt, it’s spelt spelled and
Although I’m very thorough with my reading,
Trying to read in Reading makes reading a bit tougher to do.
I thought I knew the English language,
But today I learned something new,
I am not all that learned in the English language,
I think I’ll switch to French,
Now adieu.
Question from Molli T. from Facebook
I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
Were you expecting me to say
Something more fitting,
More form fitting,
Something more pretty?
Or would you rather I said
I was wearing a shirt and tie so
You can fetishize my school uniform
To try and justify his actions
And make the victim him and not me?
Were you hoping I would say
I was wearing nothing but
My sexuality on my sleeve
And leggings so you could say
“They were practically begging”
And then pin the blame on me?
Then go on to say that I was
“Preying on his fragile masculinity”
Twisting the situation and implying
That the problem was me?
Because the truth is
I wasn’t wearing anything that would
Let you dress consent as a foregone privilege
Instead of a basic right.
And the only reason his
Arms and ego are bruised is because
I tried to fight back and tried not to
Not let it happen but I was
Too frightened and pinned down
With brute force and fear.
I still feel his hand
Over my mouth,
Forcing my screams
To back down my throat.
I am forced to wear scars
Carved by his nails and I’m
Stained with bruises that
No shower can wash away and
No knife or razor can cut out.
And I’ve tried.
No noose or antidepressant
Can change the way that
I have been changed.
And if you think,
If you believe,
That I would ask for this,
For my life to be hollowed out,
For my body to be mutilated to the point
I don’t recognise my reflection,
Then you are just as much to blame as him.
I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt,
Now they’re stained, tattered and torn
And strewn amongst the shreds of
My dignity and innocence and
Shards of shattered dreams that
Have given way to nightmares that
Don’t let me sleep
And broken-record memories
That play over and over and over,
That remind me the victim was me.
I’ll pop out for just a drink,
I won’t stay out too long,
If we hit up the karaoke bar
I’ll stay for just a song.
I’ll stay out for just another,
I enjoy the company
And the liquor and the ambience-
Hold on, I need to pee
I’m down to my last twenty pound,
I think that that’s my lot.
The manager’s buying the next round?
Barkeep, what whisky have you got?
Oh god, who bought the tequila?
Why am I drinking gin?
Why are there no Jaegerbombs?
Is the room starting to spin?
I think I’ve lost my wallet,
And I’ve missed the midnight train.
I’ll see you in the office on Monday.
Next Friday, same again?
Question from a work colleague. I went to the pub. I didn’t drink. It was a good evening.
Through a vast amount of trial and error,
I’ve found a way to make
My three foot terror
Flush the bloody toilet.
After many tries to be inventive and
Failed offerings of food and cash incentives,
The little buggers now
Flush the bloody toilet.
And though they didn’t react
When I put them up for adoption,
The little bastards now have no option but to
Flush the bloody toilet.
Now thanks to gravity and super glue,
I don’t have to see their number ones or twos.
Now the only thing that they can do is
Flush the bloody toilet.
Question from Kristin S. from Facebook
Sharp taste, sharp texture.
A light, single-serving snack.
It was delightful.
Question from Michael Clark from Facebook
The kings and queens of the hill,
The top of the trash heap
Have nowhere else to look
But down.
And they’re only happy
When they’re frowning down upon
Anyone or anything else,
As if they were some
Creature from hell
Trying to crawl and claw
Their way to the top.
Because they’re better,
Based on their opinions that
They’ve dressed up as fact to
Discriminate and separate the
Weak from the pack
So they can launch an attack
And call it defence.
But even being top of the heap
Still means you’re part of the heap.
Question from Michael Clark from Facebook
Physicists and philosophers
Have pondered the expanse of
Life, the universe, and everything.
They have been searching for an answer like
Addicts about to crack while hunting for
An honest needle in a haystack of politics,
Like the answer is a holy grail or
A point on a map that no one ever drew.
And then when a man said it was 42,
They didn’t know if it was the real answer
Or a note of latitude or longitude,
So instead of trying to take it further
They accepted it like
A man broken by a barrage of religion
As it battered down his door accepting
It’s doctrine as his lord and saviour.
Stooping and not stopping to
Question truth and reality until
It was too late.
But yesterday’s later is today’s now,
And we’ve began asking questions of
Why and how and when and why not,
Questioning the world and what we’ve got,
Acting like the status quo was just a band
And nothing more and now we’ve got
A lot more to stand for.
Like the truth.
So we asked and stripped down forty-two
With interrogation and maths,
Breaking it down into God Particles and
Jesus Lizards and quantum paths through
Space and time and time again,
Seeing what we want to see and
Finding we’re wrong and we’re right.
The constants are constantly changing
And the more we break life down,
We discover that maybe
Life isn’t made, it’s what we make it
Or life isn’t worth it at all.
But the truth is hidden behind a wall
Of uncertainty and fear and
We won’t look behind it because
Maybe it wont be the answer we’re looking for.
So I’ll move to believe in the great fourty-two,
And I won’t ask questions anymore.
Question from Hanne V.B. from Facebook
I have a threesome every day
And I’ve been having threesomes
Every day for what seems like
My entire life.
I don’t expect you to know
What that feels like but
Let me tell you,
It’s exhausting.
It’s a constant barrage of
Twisting and tossing and turning
And pushing and pulling
And burning and biting
And clawing and cutting
In a never-ending search
For happiness.
A happiness that never comes,
Much like myself because
I am too generous,
I am on the receiving end of
Two toxic partners working
In discord and out of rhythm and harmony
To give me the best worst fucking
Of my life.
Partner A:
Definitely built for speed and not comfort
And when I say speed,
I don’t just mean in terms of firing rate.
I mean the drug, because
He lives at a million miles an hour,
Never slowing, taking me by the hand,
Taking me to the brink,
Taking me on a rollercoaster ride
Where there’s no safety bars,
Where there’s no speed limit,
Where there’s no means of self-preservation,
Only self-destruction and sado-masochism
Partner B:
They like to take it slow,
Painstakingly, mind numbingly slow.
And it’s not so much sensual
As it is sensory, with a blend of
Substance and pain,
Blood play and asphyxiation,
Everything is a threat and a challenge,
Like waking up or doing literally
Anything because she leaves a mark on me
Brandings of bites and bruises
And cuts and cigarette burns.
Like I’m her property.
My bedroom is a BDSM dungeon,
A Bipolar Disorder and Sadomasochism Dungeon,
Where I’m locked in my bed and my head
With two lovers who love to fuck me
At every given opportunity.
And it would be fine to
Take them one at a time,
Treat each of them with the right
Time, dedication and medication
But unfortunately, I often find
I’m locked in a situation where
They’re both fucking me at the same time,
Tearing my body and mind apart
With thoughts that cut like a knife
And fingernails that run
Over and under my skin.
I have a threesome every day
And I’ve been having threesomes
Every day for what seems like
My entire life.
I don’t expect you to know
What that feels like but
Let me tell you,
It’s exhausting.
Question from Michael Clark from Facebook
Mxcellany - Poetry, Music, Art 