Irrelevant

Oh I’ve never felt so irrelevant in my life
Like a Scooby Doo sticker covered in fluff under the settee
Stuck gathering moss under the covers of the shadows
It’s been so bleeding long since I’ve set foot out here
With the humans, the social, the cultures, the oxygen
I can’t begin to relate to the models parading the streets
The pubs don’t sell my drink anymore
The bars don’t play my songs anymore
No one says ‘kicking about’ anymore
I don’t belong on the outside anymore

But I can’t stay secluded anymore
All my old roommates have left the couch by now
Not content with the dust they’ve entered their cocoons
Metamorphosed into a Footballer’s sticker
Paraded among many a child’s collection world wide over
I can only seem to shift into a Street Sharks set
At least it was warm under the chairs
On the streets, it’s cold and wet and full of dog piss

I remember the old days, the glory, the infamy
A heard of smiling faces to my left
A horde of sneering mugs to my right
Not even a eyebrow lift as a enter the room
They don’t welcome unfamiliarity
“That’s not the way WE have fun these days
Fun is experienced in this shape and form twat!”
They heckle and spill drinks on your shirt till you leave

I’m 22, not a 35 year old Bhs sales man
Unaware of the ways of the young hearts
Truffle Shuffling to the Harlem Shake
What happened? When did everyone get so cold
When did everyone stop having fun
When did I get so Irrelevant?

– Lnc0

Breaking Annual Tradition

Poka dot fastens, dolly shoes, white cozy warmers,
Outdated leather 2 for 15 leather belt, rapidly aging boat shoes,
Dime store bracelets and local band memorabilia,
A pile of evidence of the experiences and locals we’ve met in our lives
Reduced to a corusework final piece collage scattered on my floor
A rump and bump on the surface, a vial to survive inside

They look you up and down in disgust
They leave you to rot in the chambers
They cry when your not there at seconds notice
They groan when your insecure
They treat you like a whore
They rape you in the forest
Then they expect you to jump when they clap cos they’re bored
You hide behind a smile, why did you never tell me this before?

Don’t relent, don’t hold back
Paint me with every inch of your pain
Dig your nails into the cracks of my head
Smash your hips into my stomach
Crash your fist into my face
Paint disappear with my blood
Before pulling me up to chew into my throat
Discard me on to the carpet
Scream at me, demand some answers
Why? Why? Why are you treated this way?
What did you do? What have you done?

I come back to life and root my palms
Into the meadows of your hair
I place myself in between those gorgeous lips
And perform an improvised acapella
In a thin hope It could convey my devotion
Lets break the annual tradition
It looks like our little ceremony can’t wait
Lets pull up the bubble around us
Pretend there’s no world outside
Just our little council owned sanctuary
Not until you recalculate your value
Each step you take here puts me in the red
Each kiss you lay on my skin, is a villa sold
Each sway you perform on this frail body
That’s another European state in debt

Until that invoice is etched into your mind
We’ll drink as much Capri-Suns
And watch as many pastel overflows
Listen to as many Bubblegum drop hits
As your heart desires
You can stay nestled in my chest
And absorb the beats of my heart
For as long as you need

A follow up to ‘Lets Make This Annual’

– Lnc0

International Women’s Day. (Late)

I wish the women of the Congo

or Afghanistan or China or South Africa

didn’t need feminism and could stand

up on a pedestal with you because

you happened to win the geographical lotto.

Dismissing a whole way of thinking,

that could make lives better, isn’t

so easy when you’re living in the rape

capital of the world, being forced to

marry a stranger or being denied

sexual pleasure through mutilation.

If you put on your blinders, feminism

might seem like a relic of the suffragettes

which isn’t needed in your individual

experience. It’s nice you can walk

to Starbucks, spend your disposable

income on empty calories and feel

safe. Then you can go home to your

£400 laptop and even though you

have a more global view than anyone

else in history, you will still tweet about how

feminism is evil as if you’re

more important than other women.

Even if we shrunk it back down to our small island,

equality is still a delusion; these problems

are on our doorstep and, sure, if you put

your fingers in your ears then you can

block out the cries for help from the

four women next to you who have experienced

sexual violence and listen to how

the pay gap is a myth as if that’s the

most pressing issue. You can laugh

at feminists, ride your high horse

above them all the way to the ballot

box, trampling those girls whose families

are holding them back from democracy

because they happened to be born with

breasts. You can tip-ex the 19th of

November out of the calendar and cry

every year about how there’s no day

set aside for men instead of educating

yourself and working to promote male

issues but that might be too much like

activism and you don’t want to be

confused for someone who cares too

much.

Or you can accept that power is not

absolute, suffering is not exclusive

to you and feminism is not a

global view. You drew a lucky hand

in the social poker game

and instead of playing your cards

to your chest you can share

them round so every woman

get’s to draw for herself. You

got to decide you didn’t need

feminism which is only possible

because of the work of those

women you seem to disregard.

You don’t have to call yourself

a feminist, because it’s all about choice.

but

If we all worked together, women

and men, on this one day instead

of turning our nose up at preconceived

notions then maybe, one day,

every woman can say:

“I don’t need feminism too.”

– Francesniff

Lolita

Melting in the claustrophobic household heat,
dripping between sanity and the sickness
of a man salivating over scuffed knees.
Middle aged monotone drawls bounce
around the house enthusiastically
piercing my brain and blowing them in.
Sagged, wrinkling, shiny, plucked;
ravaged by sun and smoke and
the constant comparison to your dolly girl.
I push down my disgust and force affection,
with great effort, just to stay near her.
Her name bounces down my tongue,
silently, over and over until I can forget
you’re there; as you say:

“Oh, honey, take me away from here,
and her. The fading decor of my
fading life needs revamping;
as I blend in with the gaudy wallpaper.
She can hide behind heart shaped
glasses but I see the way she looks
at you. Her smooth innocence slips
through your fingers as she stands
4 foot ten inches in her slip on’s.
But, my love, if you just lie with me
then we can live the suburban dream.”

I’m scratching at my skin and inspecting
the bits of me under my nails; if the
definition of insanity is doing things
over and over and expecting different
results then I’ve fallen into insanity
for you, mon amour. The woman tries
to pull you away from me but you remain;
light of my life, fire of my loins and the
sequel to my young love. When she
died, I sought a replica and you are
her doppelganger. Come into me
love, struggle out of her clutches
and into my arms. I always imagine
you’d say:

“Take me away from the monotony
of not feeling special; I need to
stretch my lithe limbs and curl them
around your neck. Drive the car
down the highway, blow dust in
my face and stow me away in a
sleazy motel. I won’t ever get
bored of these games we play;
I don’t know the rules but, please,
show me. I’m already broken,
what damage could you do?”

I’m melting,
stagnating,
wanting,
waiting.
It was love at first sight,
at last sight,
at ever and ever sight.
Most of the universe
is made of taboos and
inevitability.

And the rest is rust and stardust.

As performed by Domestic

– Francesniff

Birthday Poem (for Luke)

I can calculate how long you’ve been here,
in a multitude of ways. It comes out to:
22 years which is 264 months
which is 1144 weeks
which is 8,030 days
which is 192720 hours
which is 693,792,000 seconds.
But maths doesn’t do justice to the impact you’ve made.

The ink you’ve spilled, the words you’ve jotted,
the games you played, the music you gushed over,
the people you’ve loved and hated and been ambivalent towards,
the way your hair grows and curls, the tiny bit of green in your eyes,
your olive skin, big feet, long legs, creased hands and beating heart.
That’s what time is made of.

We’ve only known each other 3 months which,
in maths blind eyes, comes to: 13 weeks
which is 91 days
which is 2191 hours
which is 131,487 minutes
which is 7,884,000 seconds.
But it feels like infinity because what does time know?

The chats we’ve had, the words we’ve performed,
the strides we’ve made, the kisses we’ve shared,
the times we’ve loved and hated the sight of each other,
the way we lay and breathe and think together,
and a thousand other little moments that can’t be measured.
That’s what time is made of.

I can fit the time we’ve spent together into your life
88 times and into mine 72 times.
Maths has never been my strong point
so I’d rather stick to fitting you into my life
rather than puzzling trying to count on my fingers
until I’m all thumbs. We fit together like time flows
and we’ll ride the flow of time until we’ve exhausted
everything; we’ll pack provisions, a life raft and all
our previous experience so we can battle the tide.

I can calculate how long you’ve been here,
in a multitude of ways, but – in the most cliched way –
when it comes to calculating my love and appreciation
that’s mathematics no woman could ever do.

-Francesniff