Tag: slam

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

Lil effeminate one

In the crux of a new addiction across the nation
And they’re indulging in full
It’s the deconstruction of an Identity to an algorithm
“Your giving strain to that uniform with your form”
“That jacket gives me pause with your clashing chromosomes”
Well here’s something to choke on with your pies and Carlsberg;

Maybe I just don’t care

If it’s too feminine then I’ve repulsed the right kind
Obsessive and convulsive with patriotic hate
If it’s too effeminate then I’m repugnant in all the right ways
Because spouting verses and hymns and comparing dicks

Wow, that sounds incredibly straight

And your saying it’s gross, nowhere near gruff like a bloke oughta’
That’s funny cos I don’t recall your companion complaining
When she’s collecting wood from the bed under her nails
And lamenting how “The boy is nothing compared to the man”

– Lnc0

Real Rage [Version 1 – Ongoing]

Now that I have your attention ladies and gentleman
Ooohhh…. Where do I even begin?
With all the mountainous amount of ways
That when I see you out and about with that cheeky boy grin
You make the bile rise up to my gullet
As you wink at the guys and give them a high-five
And you leave the infected flakes on your lips with the girls
It makes me question the point of staying alive
You wear your Topman 2 for 10 tailor suit like an Armani
And the musk of new Lynx decaying pheasant acting as your aura
Your hair’s slicked backed, the cherry on top of shredding your humanity
Thought I feel it’s missing one thing, a healthy dose of inflicted gore… -a
When your up in the bar roaring and howling
About that girl you ‘had’ in the bushes to your mates
Taking each act of humiliation like a trophy on your wall
As your bros’ grip put cracks in their drinks as they hold back the hate
Because of course none of it happened did it?
So I would start on about how you rape innocent girls
But that would imply that when they set there eyes on you
They don’t take the first taxi home and fucking hurl
Two Sambuca’s and Setlla’s hence since
Your breath starts to smell like Jack Daniel’s piss
You ask a pair of ladies if they are of celestial decent
As they start to head towards the door since I think they got the gist
You just can’t take “Fuck off you Republic dwelling troll” as an answer
You treat a grope of the arse like a personality quirk
I imagine she wants a skin graft operation after that
So that the feeling of your sweaty hairy palms doesn’t lurk
How could they not fall for you? Fall under your spell?
When you scream at them, calling them a skank
There must be god, if atleast you always walk home alone
Your night ends with tears, Vaseline, Eastenders and disappointingly short wank
I hope one day a young woman’s lad catches you in the act
And he downs you with just one nads-aiming punt
And as he leans down, he identified you for what you are
A cunt

– Lnc0

A Man May Have Died, But At Least This Conversation Hasn’t‏

Oh dreary, eerie me the fun and laughter’s has come to an end
Someone’s gone done a murder and a shanking
It sends a shiver down the stay at home mothers spine’s
Suddenly the walk down to Morrison is fraught with fright
People hiding in the trees, Cars stalking too close to the sidewalk
Kids coughing sends your heart rate into a critical state!

But your not the kind of thrive on controversy
But you can’t help but notice
This is the closest you’ve felt with your nursery friends
The walk home is filled with half baked theories
And exaggerated hearsay from the local publications
Like telling ghost stories under the moonlight

“Oh maybe it was the hoddies
I think it was the squaddies
I know for a fact it’s them Albanians
See? I told you this is what would happen!”

Walking your kid home has never been so lively

You’re not the heartless type that’s for sure!
But you can’t help but feel relief
When the pot holes of silence that would creep in along
When the gossip and slander would fall short
During a natter with Maggie down the laundrette
Are filled slowly with your fabricated updates

“Jenny though she saw someone hanging around
Michael swore he heard someone in the pub saying they did it
Sally heard the council are trying to cover it up
George still insists it was the Albanians”

Suddenly living with a husband you hate
And taking care of the kid you resent
Seemed a little less maddening that day

As preformed by Domestic

– Lnc0

Acting Domineering With The Clubbers Of Colchester

Why’d you have to shriek at me so fucking loud?
I’m trying my hardest to juice a bit of joy from this car wreck
But in the midst of this murder of scavengers
The type that pick apart the scraps of poor lost lambs
Caked in petrol station cologne, it’s a sickening sight
You slump in your seat as if inviting me to do the same
I was born with more class then that love
And besides what exactly have you done to sell me on the act?

All you’ve done is make your disappointment in my boredom known
If I had a penny for everytime I came under criticism
Cos’ I refused to fall in line for the male stereotype
I’d of brought you a taxi home, just to get you out of my face

You shell out a drug lords daily paycheck
To sit your arses in the in the side of the club
Snapping evidence of having a good night out
To justify your empty wallet the next day
But oh my god I’m falling asleep
I left my mothers womb 21 years ago to have fun
So why is it such a trail to get you on the dancefloor
Lets put them litres of booze in us to good use!

Oh please let me free!
I can’t stand to put up with this anymore
There’s more to life then drinking and making evidence for it
Get a hobby, get a life, get a fucking clue
I wish you weren’t such a disappointment
I wish you didn’t make me so mad
I wish you’d just let me be myself, instead of a ‘man’
Maybe it’ll be better if you just fucked off?

Created as a counterpart to this poem:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84960870662/acting-submissive-with-the-clubbers-of-colchester 

Wings

Oh it’s oh so clear to me now
I may of spent a few hundred million years
Scratching the desk and knocking over my beer cans
To cold call a league of philosophers at my door
Man the tantrums seems so silly now
When I’m arm in arm with comrades of old
Gliding down the streets screeching our anthem to the sky
Oh yeah it’s so clear to me right now

They told me I couldn’t find anything better
And too take the lashing like a good little slave
They swore it never got any better then this
I was lucky to even grab where I was by the fingertips
They promised they were right
Far be it from me to question your motives for telling me that
Is this what you have to do to people to stay confident?
I’m confident that’s the case

You had to make me feel like dirt
In order to make yourself feel alive
All I had to do start living my life
In order to make you feel like dirt

All you ever wanted to do was clip my wings
Use me to shield you from the deathray
You fired straight at the mirror
Hey no biggie I’m just damaged goods right?
Well I didn’t hear the others complain
The only one who’s complaining is you
As you lay yourself in the same mousetrap
Scrape another lover to use from the highway

*Written For National Poetry Month – 14/30*