The Modern church

We are mini Jesus's
the daughters and sons
of the gods of time, stuff and money
one day worshiped
for delivering that jumper by Christmas day.

But we get nailed to a cross
at least once a day
only to rise again to smile
and save orders and souls some more.

Our supervisors and spiritual leaders,
lead their people who are stuck to a phone
they rule in small ways
and they get nailed twice as hard.

But people's worship never cleanses their soul
because they need yet more
so they look to their mini Jesus on the phone.

I've got two Jobs

It's hard to get a job right now. 

Back in the happy days of the naughties I walked from one job to another, falling out with bosses on my way, I wasn't career minded I just wanted to put food on the table, buy clothes for the kids and have some fun

Then after some tough times I suddenly found work hard to find, interviews got longer and harder and competition got tougher, there were always more silly tasks to do, I have made towers out of pasta and marshmallow, bridges out of magazines, sellotape and elastic bands and been on weeks courses just to get an interview for a jobs I barely wanted.

After one more retail job I'd had enough, I left my job and went back to college. It was an adventure, I didn't get good grades but just passed but somewhere I found a bit of confidence and ambition, I realized I had determination, passion and a tiny bit of  talent.

So how did I get two jobs?

Attitude is everything, when overeating and Jeremy Kyle looks like a good way to spend a day you need to make yourself do something positive, apply for a course, volunteer, this will keep your social skills fresh and look far better on a CV than "sat around feeling sorry for myself".

Keep away from bad influences, some people are depressed, can't be bothered and will get you down. Be harsh, you can't rescue people, only the emergency services can do that and nobody can rescue people form themselves. Work out who is worth your time and who is not and keep boundaries up for gossips, moaners and people who don't wish you well, learn the art of saying "piss off" with a smile.

If you have a dream, follow it. A job you really want is out there somewhere and you can probably get something close to it if you try.If nobody will pay you to do your dream job do it anyway, this is the first step to getting paid. Thanks to technology you can be a journalist, a social media guru, photographer or filmmaker for little cost then show the world what you can do.

Also be down to earth, be open minded about what you do. Being unemployed is nasty so take a job you can do simply so you don't end up in Poundland working for nothing. Take a job close to your dream but keep working towards it.

Good luck and tell me how you get on or how you found work. It's tough out there but getting work is not impossible.

The Cloud

I saw a cloud
with all my secrets ,
and all my dreams
floated over from California
where people dreaming made
the information mist
and the leaking rain
And down came my naked pictures,

Straight Edge, it goes deeper than tattoos.

My date stood me up, and being a flirty, sociable kind of girl I got
chatting to some men. This pub is my local, it’s a spit and sawdust, young pub
with bands on a Saturday, no garish lights and no obligation to dress like a footballer’s
wife. My local now feels different now I never drink, I follow a set of very
simple rules, I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs and I don’t sleep
around, when I say I’m teetotal I mean it, there’s no excuse in my mind to ever
drink. The lads are chatty and friendly, I feel like a cross between a little
kid and mum nursing my J2O and listening to people repeat themselves, the pints
are flowing and then garish shots, and I miss my old drug of choice a little.

 

We end up in the garden where the drink keeps flowing, wine, beer shots
that look like the revolting “cocktails” I remember making as a child with milk
shakes, squash and the contents of the kitchen cupboards. I’m offered them, I
have to keep saying “no”. The cocktail shots appeal to the same childish impulse
that drove us to eat sour sweets called things like “brain bender” and they go
down like poisonous sherbet dips.

 

The thing I like about my old drug is people talk, booze puts a mask on
people yet again takes it off again and then you can get to the roots of people.
Now this is where people’s lives unravel in front of you. A young lad who looks
like a mischievous rave pixie starts talking, he is the ring leader, the one
buying the shots with the biggest mask but the persona drops and the story
unfolds.  The rave pixie tells me about his dad who did drugs daily, he
grew weed never hid the fact, now I realise Straightedge is a privilege.

 

Kids whose parents have positive attitudes to drugs are more likely to
have positive attitudes to them according to the Rountree surveys. Parents
drinking and getting stoned gives them a positive attitude to getting off their
faces, parents are their kids biggest moral guide. Straightedge may feel like a
choice for many and for me it’s been a positive one but for many how can it be
a choice, if the watch a parent have a negative emotion then block it out with
booze how will they know how to cope with life, if they've seen a parent pull a
bong, or snort some powder it’s no longer shocking, if a child pulls their mums
hair out of the toilet they may well feel frightened and disgusted by this but
it becomes normal. Some research disputes this common sense and points out that
parental attachment is also a big factor, lack of attachment means you are more
likely to fill the hole in your soul with pills, powder or smoke, a magic
potion that replaces love. “The wrong crowd” is also a huge influence, if your
kids know adults who indulge they are more likely to do drugs.

 

It’s a month until one of the biggest anniversary of my life comes
around, the day I left my pet drug addict/alcoholic, he is also the father of
my children. That day I left chaos, I left starving for someone else's choices
and I gave my kids, I left a ball of addiction who I used to love. I gave my
kids a privilege. I showed them drugs and are bad, that you can leave someone
for behaving badly. With massive help from my family I got out of a cycle.

 

So when another middle class kid smugly tells you how good they are
maybe they just got lucky, they had a stable background, they attached to their
mother so the choice came easily. My journey, I have holes in my soul that have
helped me make the wrong choices, but I have privilege on my side too. It took
me a drug addict boyfriend, a life on a poor estate. I find ways to fill that
hole in my soul with exercise, meditation, art and writing fill those holes and
watching my kids suffer to go straight, really straight edge. Some may never
make it, maybe they’re not weak but unlucky.

 

http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.1525/si.2005.28.1.67?uid=3738032&uid=2134&uid=2&uid=70&uid=4&sid=21104405076707

 

 

Brother

I dream of you,
your voice, hair and brotherly love,
your unwanted advice and annoying ways.

I remembered I loved you,
felt angry at you,
and protected by you equal measure.

Didn't want to leave us
a random twist of just biology took you
did fate take the wrong person?

You took a part of us,
now the puzzle doesn't fit,
the soap opera was ripped apart.

Years later I can cry,
family who never knew you
don't have the missing part.

We need your energy and bluntness,
for the tale to be the right one
so we live the real story
with less life and color.

You took the story
ripped the pages
they will never put themselves back
in the order they belong.

Biology took you
just fate,
you left us so randomly
and we can only have you back
in our dreams.

Toxic Children

Toxic Children

Saunter up the street,

pretending to have a gun,

dragging on a fag

a moment of euphoria
in a life of small pleasures.

Jogging bottoms,
hoody,
the uniform of youth
photocopied in a larger size.
A cheeky can of beer
just like a can of Coke
carried by a ten year old.

Cartoon features,
and a mischievous charm,
could ask the queen for a quid
without any shame.

Toxic children
with urchin ways
they're knocking on 30
with no cares
but a life with no love.

A day in the life of a woman in high heels.

I decided to look good today. Looking good is my finger up to the world, I may be skint, I may be on the way to the job center, I may be a sleep deprived single mum but thanks to charity shops and Primark I can still rock a look, take pride and enjoy my original brand of femininity and style.

1 So I put on the lovely platforms my daughter bought me for Christmas, against doctors orders, my knees are messed up from years of walking, raving and skateboarding , so I march into town in trainers and have the big, glorious shoes in my bag to change into for my first appointment. Sometimes the pain of big shoes can be worth the pain for the few inches in height and the confidence they can give a girl, I understand the thrill of the drag queen because in different shoes I'm a slightly different woman, no longer the tomboy but a woman with longer legs and a bigger attitude, that's until my ankle turns and I walk on slightly embarrassed, hoping nobody has seen my femininity fail.

Then the job centre, where I see my ex (see poems), we don't speak but he stares, are his eyes judging me? Why should I care? Seeing him looking good felt like a finger up to him, this man tried to ruin my life, so I walk out proud that I didn't start a Jeremy Kyle style row and I looked good, a sign that all the time he spent trying to ruin me was a waste of time, I may be in the job centre but I've spent the last two years doing a foundation degree so hopefully this will be one of my few visits to the job centre of modern shame and I simply wont have to come across him.

I walk out confidently, feeling a bit more cocky than usual thanks to being taller and well dressed, soon my feet start to hurt, really sting. I take some photos for my voluntary job and then give in, I'm back to average, one of the lads me in old trainers.

The heels are my choice and I know they are a foolish one, they hurt, my doctor has told them they are not for me, they are a choice, you can simply take them off and put on your trainers, I feel no pressure to wear them, I would be furious if somebody took that choice away "for my own good." or another woman judged me for wearing them.

I have to walk down the street, I have no choice. So I walk home, at a crossing a man shouts "get your tits out" I am furious, I have had this abuse since I was 14 and I have always shouted back, the thought of being an object to abuse disgusts me. Then he calls me "ugly", I look at his red, fat face and tell him to "crack a mirror". The funny thing is over my respectable top I'm wearing a baggy denim jacket, hardly provocative, not that it should matter anyway I should be able to walk down the street in a bikini, a boiler suit or a niqab if I feel like it. I'm not the only woman not to welcome this attention, surveys show women feel many emotions from disgusted to frightened, shouting back makes me feel a little better.

Do we have to look like men to feel safe? If so why should we give up the pleasure of looking good so horrible men don't abuse us? isn't that a form of repression? I would love to see a world where men enjoyed their clothes as much as women. A woman walking down the street is not wrong, she is not a threat but a man giving unwanted attention is a huge threat, especially when it's crude and aggressive abuse.

3 I long for a world where clothes are simply a way of expressing ourselves and we can enjoy our femininity, wear a boiler suit, a bikini or a niqab depending on the day, but life is more complicated and maybe I'm naive, while a woman can't walk down the street wearing whatever she pleases we need feminism.




1 http://www.thespinehealthinstitute.com/news-room/health-blog/how-high-heels-affect-your-body
2 http://www.policymic.com/articles/90475/the-next-time-someone-says-catcalling-is-a-compliment-show-them-this?utm_source=policymicTWTR&utm_medium=main&utm_campaign=social
3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emvJoY6ZuMQ