(context for this pieceI’ve been thinking about the words we ( I) use, (perhaps flippantly) at times. Without really thinking about the meaning of what we say to describe a person.An example? Crazy.
My 8-year-old daughter uses this word to describe anything / any a person who seemingly comes across as alien or eccentric to what she doesn’t understand people’s behaviour & words.
When I found out about the All Words Matter campaign that started a few years ago over being conscious of using the words we use to label people, like refugees versus using the word asylum seeker, I became inspired to write, Inspiration for this piece was taken from the urban dictionary).
I also want to challenge my vocabulary to use words that have an influence on the way we treat people.It’s about being aware of what we say & this culture of using words that take the English/ other languages and filter it through hashtags, miscommunication thus preventing people from appreciating & understanding other cultures.
Here she comes
Me-the late bloomer
I have a revelation words matter circa 2019.
ALL WORDS MATTER.
Let me try and type something with substance
Words have power.
Collectively should choose our words carefully.
Don’t stop talking.
Hashtag it’s still okay to talk.
Start a difficult conversation.
Mental health is here for as long as we humans are.
Stop with the sincerely Stan — suicidal fan stereotyping-
Passive-aggressive greeting-Hello me hunties
Yes, I have a cunt and I won’t let any manhunt me-unless he is prepared to be chased too.
How can we all be so woke when
We still choose to believe in fake news?
People love to give blow jobs on other peoples words.
Most people swallow and don’t spit.
Retweet it to keep it 100.
Can we put a value on integrity?
Words matter-when we stand up for our belief to break away from the mould.
Open mic night’s expressions should be honoured by doing our words-over and over.
Especially when people aren’t watching.
Show and tell how to walk the talk.
Match a wage bet — that another brother’s claims of little Miss trouble are too high key.
It’s okay to talk.
Tupac, once said
People should see before they make a judgement.
express yourself — in the socially accepted way-
Aspire to appear lowkey?
All these quotes about
Keep your personal business to yourself.-
Then do a 180 and take the ” power back”.
A calculated performance.
Reveal you know how to manipulate words — with barely legal finesse.
Hashtag wars still matter.
Use language for positive change.
Start a difficult conversation.
Think about your fellow patient in the opposite bed.
Why does she have resting bitch face syndrome?
Why does she stare at the back after you state
‘That feeling when you feel like Britney spears circa 2007?
Oh, you have problems — you slit your wrists — oh how savage — roll of the eyes.
Let’s get creative with our words.
Affected by mental illness.
Lives with a mental illness?
Or suffers from a mental illness?
How savage (roll of eyes)
These labels — — schizophrenics. Bipolar, psychotic.
2019 is the year where Everyone wants to be insane
the reason to be a certain way is the new aesthetic
or an excuse,
To be lowkey about our true shame and high key about superficial hurt not to lure in the Stans.
It’s not relevant (as long as I get approval from my fam or
My Sis from another Miss).
We are more than a tick boxed list of criteria.
We are complex humans, with diverse traits and interests.
Who is that? Over there- making a statement.
Not relevant — That there is just some extra.
Not part of the true fam-
Is this how we wish people to feel?
For all the RT’er’s out there who love to share,
Share your own personal story.
The world will become a place where you are lit by your integrity.
Not everyone can relate to the G.O.A.T.’s
We probably are pretty for real when we embrace our bromances and our militant feminists.
True power is being woke enough to see the ethic in bringing out the G. O. A. T. in EVERYONE of us.
We can all be lowkey.
We are all fam.
I’m not going to say its cool to call my new ‘ship interest-Dad.
And the lack of them.
What we don’t say … is a statement of power.
Spoken word — maybe we all have inner dictator waiting to stand up and be heard.
I don’t know how we can claim to so woke when everything we do is to death.
What am I going on about?
Apologies for this is the mix in slang-
I’m not pedantic … I am keeping my integrity — my code of ethics.
If we are going to talk and be true about our feelings — Remember that the words we use to connect on a level can out you as a hypocrite-
Words matter because they help us communicate and relate with a diverse bunch of people who may end up feeling like family more than your own Dad or sis.
Communication can cause dis-ease — challenge our own self-awareness;
Not because you the go-to p[person to get the latest scoop on someone else in life detention.
It’s cool to be high key about not fitting the mould-
Embrace the idea that to be holistic is not going to conform to your method of living-
WE don’t have to be conventionally spiritual to have faith.
Well-being of the mind and body is the G.O.A.T.
– the power-
The perfect ratio.
Sometimes we fall — human after all …
When we outcast others for assuming their make up
Judging every part of them based on an undemocratic vote of what a person’s true disposition is.
How fair and unbiased are our Hugh key views when we don’t have the whole picture?
That moonscape — that attitude is a predisposition to sus and ghost others because of their diversity.
We spit words, stand up for diversity and equality-
Express ourselves through didactic verse.
Congratulate our selves on our ethics-to embrace the variety of our culture.
The irony is what we say and do,
What we say we are going to do.
And what we do when confronted with someone who is different and not facile two understand.
How quick we are to turn into heartless bastards and turn away from our own race.
Everyone is quick to look at the other person.
I Don’t see colour! I’m not racist.
I don’t discriminate, I’m well up for equality.
“Look at those tits!”
“She looks well up for it.”
“Crazy, cheating man-hating bitch.”
“Disrespecting my bro..”
Consult the bro code.
This divine, esoteric oracle states that she was asking for it.
Aaah Aaah Aaah BAH!
True story — a woman lived under apartheid then came to live in the patriarchal society of English gentry. She’s spoken up for herself — acted like a dude-how dare she!
Embraced the spoken word and unashamedly campaigned for the right that it is truly ok to talk.
Segregated cos she is diverse and predisposition to speak her mind, she made as many fuck ups as the people she met and spent time with.
She decided to end her borderline poetics with
I don’t give a fuck, I know the world is bigger than a few small-minded , feeble gossips who use their words to bond
I “died” to be reborn.
I answer to nature, not people.
Infamous conquest of the human race to expose life’s epiphany.
de harmonisation fails to uphold Athena’s liturgy.
Poorly managed Pomodoro method
Metis grant Deep Thought access to the mind of the thunderstruck.
Search engine optimised – the ultimate article 42 disinhibits a libertarian’s reclaimed autonomy to debate life’s purpose for freedom.
hypophysectomise the moody matriarchy with
Pheromonal replacement therapy
Single seeded sire declares she made it up -it’s all in her head
Shamed for her bloody lunar cycle – men stand Erectus repulsed yet horny
cautioned to never mirror the gorgon with serpent hair
live a life barren or
Welcome the stones for a martyr’s death.
(I’m seriously stuck with this one writer’s block & in writer’s self-doubt in full force. It needs a lot of work. )
The red army draws collective breath whistles it out in a howling gust of wind snarling.
She stands tall – her long tresses raised to the heavens
A subtle message from Hell’s dwellers: it was back to attack.
Every month, they stalk her just as night follows day, full-mooned. Hairy palms, yellow slit eyes – she would rather die of an internal haemorrhage than be demeaned.
They see the blood trickling down her legs.
Draw in closer – metallic scented pack.
Pro-choice in an era where science can make the dead come to life – yet still she must bleed whether she carries life inside her or expels the botanist’s seed.
Condemn her to a life in pro. Micheal Jordan had space jam. A notorious – well-received flow. She blushes every time her breasts swells – nature twists in a smile. Nipples points straight at the mouths of the hungry -ready for their feed.
To be Anonymous in a WikiLeaks world. Memes, social media information convulsing out statements of change:
Did you know?
Think about how brainwashed – your mind is!
She knows she still rolls in her own shit.
Unfit for a carry one movie with Benny hill and the league of justice.
Dead pool eyes.
She knows this world is too abrasive
Her skin smooth
Her passion unhinged
One straight jacket away from having the whole collection of brand unfit.
‘It’s a happening, baby ‘-throwback to Allan Kaprow.
Everyone is crazy. Everyone has issues.
Everyone stand and link arms at the toll bridge
show solidarity for your fallen foes.
The ones who fell 20 feet from the building or overdosed on legal high drugs brought from some hoodie called Jack Wills.
How to be seen and have her privacy in a cyberbully surveillance world?
Throwdown your sticks allow overgrowth to infect the anti-stigma hedges trimmed neatly in a row.
She screams out in shrill
Ears sharp enough to raise the dead.
How is it possible no one sees or hears of her ills.
Despicable matters in the eyes of the living dead.
An out or an in.
A place that stirs broth from her blood flow waits until her insulin levels drop to an all-time grave
Sugar-coated words nauseate her.
Her duty to be human and keep her heart on the ticker – inside she knows the hurricane won’t stop swaying the palm trees until she is torn from her roots
Mr Big has an acute perspective unable to see she is drowning with every weapon she draws.
It doesn’t take a hostage negotiation expert to know that eventually, even the savviest terrorist can be worn down to drop its ammunition.
Stockholm! Place of the cordial juiced up paedophiles.
Intensive herbal essence conditioning treatment is their only hope of showing her how to be free.
A Jesus embellished slice of toast to honour her first Butter valley communion.
She thinks she is free.
She knows it’s part of her syndrome.
Her mind is her prison. She has the padlock and the pin number.
She sits up to 24 hours a day punching in the password, unlocking the clunk of metal chains – on a loop.
An exercise in futile persistence.
The ending is found in her very beginnings born out of blood, stained, crying
Pulled out with forceps the white coats defined her form from the moment they beat her into breathy life.
Smiling jokester with broad shoulders fighting all corners of the globe
Her last breath will be when she lets go-
In her state of cocoon expose her true misery to the world – look at her in her strife
Don’t worry, folks
Blood will flow.
You will get your show.
Just know that she put up one hell of a fight
In order to finally see her vision of light.
Do or die –
live fast , party hard –
be an honorific rebel.
Shake me up,
Colour me bold!
Don’t wind me down – use a font that sounds like Bevel.