Tag: friendship

NaPoWriMo Day 9

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

2017 – A Year in Review

A long short summary of 2017.

Another year over, and what a year it’s been. It’s had ups and downs and tears and laughter and clichés and bad metaphors. It has been a year.

But I have never felt as successful as I have coming out of this year. This year, I did so many things I didn’t expect me to do ever.

I won not one but two poetry slams, I performed music on stage for the first time since 2013, I managed to write 100 Poems in 100 Days (I still don’t know how I managed that).

I had my first ever stand-up comedy gig (it was terrifying, it was amazing), I got to perform alongside one of my poetry idols and busted some more comedy and broke my roleplaying game cherry with The Comedy Roleplaying Hour at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe.

I had my first paid feature poetry gig, I wrote, produced and performed my first ever full-length poetry show at the Edinburgh Horror Festival, and became part of the team that run the Edinburgh Horror Festival.

I had my first ever compere gig, started a new cabaret band/duo, and started work on a new live poetry event with a good friend of mine which is due to debut early next year. And finally, to top it all off, I was named Stage Time Promotions ‘Best Poetry/Spoken Word Act of 2017.’

Across music, comedy and poetry (and hosting) I’ve performed 36 times this year. That’s insane. That’s 36 more performances than I expected to do in my life. There’s so many people in my life that I need to thank. This has been unexpected. For the first time in 25 years, I feel proud of myself.

It’s not been without its battles. Mental health, homelessness, nerves, losing friends, drifting away from people. No life is 100% perfect.

But this year came pretty damn close.

I’d like to say a huge thank you to all of you, the people who’ve read the poems, the people who have listened to/watched me perform. The people who have let me perform (Inky Fingers’ wonderboys, Freddie and Ross, the beautiful Lloyd and Matt behind The God Damn Debut Slam, my good friend Ross who I produce the Freakeasy Showcase with, the Edinburgh Horror Festival, and the organisers of From The Horse’s Mouth).

My sound operator, Graham, and poster designer, Ash from We All Have Fears.

To all my friends who have supported me and listened to my surrealist ramblings while trying to write something. To all my friends who have been there on any level. My friends online and on the earth. There are so many of you. I can’t thank you enough.

And finally, thank you, dear readers. You don’t know me, and yet you’ve taken the time to stick around and read this. You’ve read the blogs, you’ve read the poems. You’re amazing. And I love that you’ve been hanging around, commenting when you can. Liking, sharing, communicating, supporting. Thank you.

Bring on 2018 and the next adventure!

#PoeticAnswers 79 – Still?

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.

#PoeticAnswers 60 – Why Do People Give Up On You When You Move Away?

I can’t believe,
I won’t believe,
That it was actually intentional.
They’re my best friend so
It cant be malice but
With each passing day, I feel more like
Alice in the rabbit hole.
Falling further away,
The distance stretching like
Shadows in the setting sun.
Even though I’m reaching out,
My calls and messages disappear
Like carrier pigeons shot out of the air
But I don’t know if I’d rather it was
Enemy or friendly fire.

This friendship now feels like
It’s paved with good intentions
And sudden turns for the worst,
And roundabout excuses.
And even though I know the way,
The signposts are vandalised with
New tags with your initials and
A name that I don’t know.
I didn’t realise that, apparently,
You were waiting for the right time to quit.
I hope someday you realise that
Your new nicotine patch or meat substitute
Won’t feel the same.
And eventually,
You’ll come to miss me as much as I miss you.

Because I didn’t mean to hurt you.
And although you feel that
I stabbed you in the back,
Please know that the blade was too long
And I stabbed myself in the heart.
And now there’s an aching in my chest,
Now there’s a hole in my heart,
But you don’t care.

Because I moved away .
Then you put the distance between us.

Question from Lexi H. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 45 – Do You Think Snails Are Horrified by Hermit Crabs?

I was honestly suprised to discover
That this is a genuine thing.
I think it’s easy to forget that
The circle of life extends to those
Beneath the waves,
Where the seaweed is greener
And aquatic creatures roam and take control.

A humble sea snail,
A quiet, reserved soul
Gently and slowly meanders among
The coral and sponges.
He says hello to his friends,
And all creatures are his friends
Because he has no anemones.

But despite all his friends,
He is often alone
When he retreats into his home
There is no room for company
So he leaves himself exposed.
Unsuspecting and trusting,
Taking life at his own pace.

One day he passed away.
A clownfish suggested that
“It was his tide”.
The pun went unappreciated.
All the sea creatures went to his “fineral”.
Apart from the clownfish.
They weren’t allowed due to inappropriate humor.

But it was a beautiful ceremony,
Angelfish sang a heavenly requiem.
They say the sea is so salty
Because of the tears of fish at funerals for snails.
This is probably not the case,
But a funeral is not the time to argue semantics.
He fell out his shell and was buried in the reef.

A few days later,
A homeless hermit crab was
Gently and slowly meandering among
The coral and sponges.
No friends, no anemones,
Perfectly cold and alone.
Until he saw sad, empty shell.

He knocked once, and then twice
Thought to himself
“This shell looks nice”
He retreated inside,
It wasn’t too big,
But this could be home.
He slept on the seabed, safe and warm.

But then uproar commenced.
The sea creatures were incensed
By a mighty rage for their fallen comrade.
“This shell isn’t yours!”
A voice cried,
“How can you be so shellfish?”
Everyone turned to the clownfish and stared in disgust.

But then the waters turned still,
A voice came from the reef,
Quiet and reserved,
It was beyond belief,
The ghost of the snail said, “We’ll I’ll be damned”
“Friends, don’t be cruel to this poor, little crab,
“Did I teach you nothing in my time on the sand?”

“I’m now one with the waves and don’t need my home,
This crab’s just like me, don’t let him feel alone
Sweet little crab, if you come out of your shell,
You’ll become friends with these fishfolk,
They really are swell!”
The sea creatures felt ashamed and extended their fins,
The old snail was right, they let the crab in.

The ghost fell away into silence
And the sea came alive.
Some wondered why the ghost of the snail
Chose to speak in rhyme because it wasn’t like him,
But they mostly came together to welcome
The lonely hermit crab,
Realising that the real horror is prejudice.

The correct term for this is commensalism
I like to think of it as a
Bizarre ritual of inheritance
And a symbol of hope and new life
On the ocean floor.
This means the snail is not horrified but accepting of change,
And we can all learn from the sea creatures.

Apart from the clownfish.
They’re just inappropriate and insensitive.

Question from Taylor D. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 39 – What Would Someone Who Loves Themself Do?

They would know that it’s okay
To love themself.
Because the lines of
Self-care and narcissism
Do not intersect.

They would give themself
What they need.
Be mindful of their own survival,
Eat, sleep, breathe and repeat,
Remember how to live their own life
And be care full.

They would give themself
Protection.
Not in the sense of fighting,
But knowing and preserving friendships
And cutting out those who seek to
Wipe the warmth and smile from your soul.

They would give themself
Forgiveness.
We don’t need to be hard on ourselves,
Between the hurt of hailstorms and gravity dragging us down,
We don’t need do any worse to ourselves.
The world is hard enough on us already.

Invest time and money in themself
And appreciate in value..
Plant seeds of positive thoughts
And let them grow.
And know that it’s all perfectly okay.

Question from Victoria T. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 26 – How Much Do You Love Me?

I love you a number that’s incalculable.
It may sound unfathomable,
Bordering on inconceivable,
But a number is not believable.

Because love is immeasurable,
But if this answer isn’t pleasurable,
Placing a value is not applicable
Trying would only be despicable.

Sweetie, you are adorable
Even when you’re inconsolable
But I can’t say something numerical
Because that would be heretical.

Darling, please be flexible.
It really isn’t personal.
Please don’t hold me responsible
For this answer diabolical.

I’m sorry it isn’t palatable,
This doesn’t make us incompatible.
But I don’t have an example
Of a value that is ample.

I’m not acting feeble,
You’re being unbelievable,
This situation’s laughable,
Here’s an answer that is passable:

I love you a number that’s incalculable
It may sound unfathomable,
Bordering on inconceivable,
But one hundred sounds believable.

Question from Kirsty E. from Facebook.

#PoeticAnswers 17 – If Someone Talked About You The Way You Talked About Yourself, Would You Be Their Friend?

I would be their friend.
I’m drawn to toxicity like
A heroin addicted moth to the flame under the spoon.
There’s so much that I shouldn’t want
But do out of a warped sense of necessity.

If they would be my friend
I wouldn’t need to be harsh on myself.
I could finally cut myself out of my life.
Cast off the shadows of self-doubt
Be the light of my own life.

But I wouldn’t.
Because happiness has never felt real to me.
I would always need someone to drag me down to reality,
Keep me rooted and unsupported,
Leaving me a weeping willow,
Wilted and hanging.

I’ve never spoken highly of myself,
I have no reason to because
I know myself like the back of my hand,
I know the story behind each and every
Unsightly scar, broken knuckle and ugly bruise.

I am the caesarean scar on my stomach,
Cutting away at myself,
Hoping for a new life
But nothing comes.

I am the bruise on the world,
Ugly and unwanted,
Trying to conceal but
Becoming more obvious.

Clumsy, broken, autistic,
Mediocre, lazy, alcoholic,
The monster in the basement,
The monster in the closet,
Could never own up to herself
Could never own up to his mistakes,
The teenage junkie who never grew up.

 

Question from Georgia B. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 13: What’s Wrong?

Nothing.
Nothing really.
It’s just this tiny,
It’s just,
It’s nothing.

I promise,
It’s nothing.
You don’t need to worry,
Don’t look at me like that,
It’s nothing.

Something?
Maybe something.
It’s stupid really.
You can put your eyebrow down.
It’s nothing.

Have you ever
Felt like less than nothing?
Like your funeral’s being held early,
Like the weight of the earth is coming down on you and,
You’re dying?

Crushing,
Crushing in my head,
Crushing in my lungs and chest,
I’ve stopped gasping for air because nothing is there,
I’m choking.

Choking like
A candle in a glass cage,
It can’t shine or fight anymore,
It sputters and withers, turning to darkness and smoke
And nothing.

Nothing,
I wish I could be nothing,
Because nothing is worse that these feelings of nothingness,
Nothing comsumes, nothing excites, nothing is the only thing that is there,
I’m nothing.

It’s nothing,
Like I told you, it’s nothing,
And I wish there was something I could do,
But I’ve been drowning and sinking into this dark ocean, and, like its waves,
I’m breaking.

Nothing,
Nothing more, nothing less,
There’s a hole like a cavern carved in my chest,
That I’ve dug myself so I can find my heart and make it
Stop beating.

Talking,
I hate talking,
I don’t want to talk about what’s wrong because
It’s not your problem and I won’t be a burden so believe me when I say,
It’s nothing.

#PoeticAnswers 9 – How Many Sides Are There to a Friendship?

For a friendship to stay afloat,
It must have a strong base.
Let this be side one.
From this, the fundamentals are established,
We build and we bond together,
Floating as a brand new raft on a sea of no cares.

Growing taller and stronger,
Your raft becomes a boat.
Boxed in and built up.
Port and starboard
Stern and bow.
Ready to sail into the future.

Port, left side,
From here, you can look out and see
All that you have left behind.
Out in the distance, a setting sun,
Typhoons of emotion.
Beneath the waves,
Buried treasures and wreckages,
Lost forever, eroded by salt-water tears.

Starboard, right side.
Because someone was always
Right by your side.
Your first-mate and anchor,
Your navigator and helmsman,
They have never steered you wrong.
And although the waves have been rough,
They have never left you mutinied or marooned.

Stern to the rear,
The wind at your back,
And your home and stateroom.
And it’s appropriate that the bedroom
Is called a stateroom.
Because the two of you have left it in a state
From drinking too much rum with no coke
And sharing the best and worst moments of your lives.

The final side, bow.
Always looking forward.
Looking forward to the future
Because this is the best journey of your life.
There’s never been a second wind,
But it’s never been a breeze.
But sometimes, you need to go ashore,
The rum makes you say some pretty dumb things.

But your five-side friendship
Will still be in harbour,
Waiting for you to return,
Waiting for the next journey.
The seas may be rough,
But much like the barnacles on the base,
You’re sticking together forever.

Question from Peter G. from Facebook