AKA Harry Potter Limerick Day 6
Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince
Now that Snape has killed Dumbledore dead,
Voldemort’s finally gotten ahead.
He’s got domination on his brain
And he’s clearly insane,
But that’s what happens your family is inbred.
© Emilie C. Black, 2020
You had to leave. Not because you wanted to, but because they wanted you to. Because they wanted to be safe and happy and that couldn’t happen if you were vaguely gay. You knew they were wrong but the truth would take too long to explain and the pain would only get worse if you tried.
So you packed up the person they wanted you to be and moved out of their house, carrying the baggage around like a blanket that kept you cold at night while you traveled from door to door, sleeping on sofas and floors, wrapped in clothes that weren’t yours anymore but at least they fit.
Maybe if you wore them long enough, playing a part that could please them would be possible. Maybe the Sharpie ink scars they tattooed on your skin and your soul would sink in and make you acceptable, at least to them if not yourself. Maybe you could live with that. For a while.
Flannel shirts don’t discriminate. They hang and wrap around you, multicoloured like the flags you want to wear like a cape and fly and be free in. Soft sleeves mop up the tears and blood you shed as you try to cut and carve your way to the person you want to be.
Your friends complain you don’t dress up for Halloween but you don’t know how to explain that you’re wearing a costume every damn day. You’ve painted a smile on your face but looking at your eyes in the mirror reminds you how fake it is.
You roll up your sleeves and you look like the person you’ve always pretended to be and hate yourself. You heard people say your name and hate yourself. You get called sir by the waiter and hate yourself. You lie in the hospital bed, think about everything you’ve been and had bto be and hate yourself.
So you wrap yourself in your flannel. You feel the soft press against your skin, watch the coloured lines contour and curve around your arms and want to be like that. Curved and carved into that coke-bottle glass frame. You want your chest to be heavy from love and happiness instead of negativity.
So you shave off the physical and metaphorical beards that kept you safe, secure and in sadness. You grow your hair out and raise your voice in volume and pitch. It’s taken four years, but you’ve finally left those boxes of boy clothes by the side of the road and in thrift stores for the people who need them.
You keep the flannel shirts. Not to remind you of who you were, but to wear them as multicoloured flags, proud and open on your new chest, with all the queer t-shirts you need emblazoned with the logos of who you really are. They wrap around your wrists and arms like warm hugs from an old friend that doesn’t care about the old you, just the new.
© Emilie C. Black, 2020
Recorded at From The Horse’s Mouth @ Summerhall, Edinburgh.
So, this past year I feel I’ve managed to go from strength to strength. This is due to the following things:
And finally, on top of this, I mnaged to write, direct and perform my first, full length solo poetry show. And it was received well. I’ve had constructive feedback and know how to work on it. I reckon it may end up hitting up the Edinburgh Fringe next year.
I’d like to thank everyone who had helped, my friends Ross, Isla, Heli and Oliver, Theresa, Dave, David, Gemma, Ricky and everyone else who came to the show or helped or listened to me rant or kept me sane with cups of tea, my sound guy, Graham, and my graphic designer, Ash.
A huge thanks goes to Edinburgh Horror Festival for opportunity to debut this show.
A hundred thank yous go out to the Amanda F*cking Palmer Official Page group for helping with the research for the show.
Further thanks go out to Stage Time Productions for their review of the show (that you can read here!)
And finally, thank you to all of you. You who have been reading and commenting away. Thank you for your support and dedication.
100 days, 100 questions, 100 answers as poems.
102 days ago, I would’ve said “that’s impossible!” But here we are. And I’m a mix of emotions about it. Pride, accomplished, relieved, astonished (I honestly thought I’d give up after day ten) but also… I’m not completely satisfied.
I’m proud of dedicating myself and finishing the challenge, and there is a lot of work that I’m proud of. But there’s definitely some poems in there that didn’t turn out how I wanted them to or I was just generally not happy with.
I think there’s a lot of material that has potential and there’s some I may rewrite entirely, but right now, I’m all poemed out and could use a wee break.
So, if you’re interested, all of this year’s poems can be found here, please feel free to peruse. The future is on it’s way and it involves videos and more new writing. If you have any questions or want a chat, hit me up.
Huge, special thank yous belong to my friend Dave, who has been a very dedicated and supportive friend (he wrote these out in a book! It was the best birthday present ever!) and finally to Michael Clark who has contributed around 12-15 percent of these questions! Thank you both so, so much.
And finally, I’d like to say a huge thank you to all of you. The readers, the questioners, without you, I wouldn’t have gotten to this. Thank you for your love and support.
I’ll be back soon with more poems, posts and gig updates!
It’s was never exactly obvious,
It was more like the longest
Dawning of the day, except
It wasn’t a twenty-four hour
Turn-around time for it to
Come around, it was more like
Several years of night skies and
Never shining out of the darkness.
Feeling a sort of substandard
That could only be applauded
By best friends and parents.
But since starting to write
And stage these poems,
I’ve seen real people,
Rooms of strangers
Clinging onto every word,
I’ve heard them laugh,
I’ve hugged them when they’ve cried,
I have had statements from people stating
That they can relate to
The work that I’m making.
Even though it’s not anything
Particularly groundbreaking,
The fact that it can actually
Mean something to someone.
This never happened overnight,
I never expected any of this,
I never expected to find this bliss
Or happiness in performing
Poetry.
I never imagined feeling
Good about myself or
Having other people
Appreciate and listen.
It doesn’t feel real,
It doesn’t feel every day,
But in this moment of
Existential realisation,
I’ve come to realise:
I’m pretty fantastic.
Question from Megan C. from Facebook
How can you complain about choking
When you are slowly suffocating me
With these dietary restrictions?
When we met, I thought it was feta
But I cheddar known better.
It’s not an addiction,
I could give it up anytime I want,
I just don’t want to.
But you seem determined to milk this for all it’s worth,
And it’s grating on me that you’d put your needs first.
You’re not the first person to complain,
My father was just as intolerant as you,
When he took away my cheese, I thought “how dairy”.
It was for my own Gouda and would change the condition
Of my allegedly toxic and deadly emissions.
I thought you’d have sympathy and kindness
But it appears you lactose and
Now we are at an impasse because
You won’t compromise because you can’t
See my emotions and needs on another level.
They don’t get pasteurise.
Question from Sarah M. from Facebook
You’d think after all this time
That things would change and
I wouldn’t feel the same.
It’s a shame that I couldn’t
Be like you or be liked by you
Or convince you to stay.
But much like the champagne
On our wedding day,
Our love fell flat and lost it’s fizz
As quickly as you lost interest.
Now all I do is invest my time
Looking at these photographs
Of a different life
As I wonder if everything
From the kisses and the smiles
Was just a lie.
I never saw you cry.
It was as though there was no
River of tears behind your eyes,
Just frozen lakes on frozen nights
And frozen in time, fixating
On never changing, fixating
On stopping, fixating on silence,
Building it like a fence to keep us apart
Because it was easier to feel nothing
Than to feel pain.
I wish I could feel the same
But there’s a fire in my heart and brain
That stops me from being as cold as you are.
And no matter how hard I try,
I cannot will my heart to stop,
Despite the torment and the
Blame game you played,
Playing me into taking the blame
For us drifting apart like
Falling stars from the night sky,
Falling into nothing and silence
And out of existence,
Despite your insistence and
The hurt and distance that
Lies between us,
Despite all of this,
Darling, yes.
I love you, still.
Finding the meaning of life,
Or trying to find and
Understand what life means is something that
Readers, writers, scientists and philosophers have
Tried to do for but failed because Life’s meaning is something only the
You and I’s can truly decide on.
The meaning of life is to do:
Whatever you want, whenever you want, with whoever you want.
Otherwise, life has no meaning.
Question from Gabriel McC from Facebook
Will you leave the door open
After all I’ve done?
Will you forget and forgive,
Or does a single moment
Hold more power than
A lifetime of happiness?
Will you lock the door?
Will you define me
By my indescretions?
Will you confine yourself
To our bedroom and
Leave me out in the cold?
Will you put the chain on the door
And wrap it around your heart?
Will you feel like you need to
Protect yourself from me?
Once you’re safe,
Will you let me defend myself?
Will you leave the door open
After all is said and done?
Will you leave the door open
And let me redecorate our bedroom with apologies?
Will you leave the door open?
Will you still be there?
Today’s question was overheard on the streets of Edinburgh. Thank you, stranger.
Mxcellany - Poetry, Music, Art 