You're such a girl

"You're such a girl" he said
And my eyes did a roll
An involuntary movement
I couldn't control

I know he's just teasing
But what does he mean?
Am I an infant?
A child or a teen?

If he means I am female
Well yes I have breasts
Not very large ones
But there none the less

I have a womb
And two ovaries
My hips can bear children
With remarkable ease

But he doesn't mean that
He just wants to say
That my purchase of shoes
Is a female cliché

But is it that girly?
To buy new footwear?
Kind of essential
To walk anywhere.

Who gets to decide
Who's a girl and who's not?
And if I am girly
Should I care a jot?

Well no, but I do
'Cause I don't think I am
It implies I am frivolous
Vapid, a sham

That the word 'girl'

Should evoke such concepts

Is a feminist bugbear

But still I object

OK, I like ballet

And yes I wear tights

I blow dry my hair
And I have had highlights

But I do not like Strictly
I do not read Heat
I do not bake cupcakes
I do not use Veet

I multitask like a loser

My nails look like crap
I think pink is horrendous
And I'm great with a map...

This is the point though

All these things are banal

They do not define me

Or my gender at all

So don't tell me I'm girly
It's bound to annoy
And I'll just reply

"God, you're such a boy."

Places past

If I could make a map
Of all the places I have been
And colour the most visited
A vivid shade of green

Our house would be a jungle
My office emerald sea
My Mum's a wood in summer
Sainsbury's a squashed pea

But also on the map
Would be colours fading fast
Corners that were once much loved
Now firmly in my past

These are all the places
I will never stand again
Familiar houses, shops and streets
Now only in my brain

Some are lost forever
Torn down or left to rot
Or residents I knew replaced
By others I do not

The swing in Oma's garden
Where many hours I spent
Long rusted then paved over
For a new development

My Nanna's tiny kitchen
Formica, cork and glass
Someone else now washing up
Since my Nanna passed

Every school and college
Here and overseas
Classrooms, halls and playgrounds
Now distant memories

The playhouse in our garden
Our little home outdoors
Demolished once the roof blew off
And ivy grew up through the floors

My old Guide hut, my drama club
All those dank church halls
I have no reason, now I'm grown
To visit them at all

In every place I linger
I try to leave a sign
A note, a date, a word or two
A mark in space and time

So though it makes my wistful
To recall my haunts of youth
It helps to know that "I woz there"
And left a little proof.

Helpful Harry

This isn't based on personal experience at all, honest!

 

_________________________

 

Harry was a helpful boy
He liked to fetch and carry
But every time that Harry helped
His Mummy cried "Oh Harry!"

"Oh Harry!" she would mutter
As he picked up her car keys
And wrapped them up in clingfilm
To live in the deep freeze

"Oh Harry!" she would shout
As he brightened up a wall
With a pot of poster paint
And a felt-tip scrawl

"Oh Harry!" she would grumble
As he opened the fridge door
And rearranged the carrots
On the kitchen floor

Visits from his relatives
Were the best chance to assist
He'd make sure that they all received
A helpful little gift

Pogo stick for Grandma
Trike for Uncle Barry
Roller skates for Bob the Dog
Still Mummy sighed "Oh Harry!"

Harry kept on helping though
He knew from Mummy's tone
That she was really happy
When he hid her mobile phone

And she really liked it
When her purse went in the sink
And when he found a ten pound note
And coloured it in pink

"Oh Harry, helpful little boy,"
His tired Mummy said,
"I think that you can help the best
By heading off to bed."

Night night Harry!

The Goth Sloth

And now for something completely different...  Whimsical poetry to be precise (I think reading kids books all day has inspired me / warped my brain).  This one was written today after I noticed that the fluffy sloth that sits on the back of our sofa looks like he's wearing really over the top eye make up. 

 

(Incidentally, it only works if you pronounce 'sloth' so it rhymes with 'cloth', which we do in our house, though I know a lot of people say 'slowth'.  Sorry if you're one of them - this poem is probably going to bug the bejesus out of you).

_______________________

Susan the Sloth
Liked to dress as a Goth
Complete with black platforms and hair
This was fine on the ground
But soon Susan found
Climbing trees was a total nightmare.

For a sloth this is bad
She grew terribly sad
For she longed to hang by her toes
But she could not roam
Her arboreal home
Because of the outfits she chose

Her coat would get stuck
And covered in muck
And the twigs would poke holes in her skirt
Her boots were so clompy
The tree would go wonky
And she'd fall out so hard it would hurt.

"Give it up," her friends said
But the sloth shook her head
She was stubborn and really quite proud
"I like being a Goth,"
Said Susan the Sloth
"I don't want to be part of the crowd."

One sunny morning
As Susan was yawning
And applying more black to her eyes
A little voice said,
"Hello sleepy head,
Hurry up for I have a surprise!"

Susan looked all around
And eventually found
Upon her right shoulder a moth
The moth was all black
With red stripes down its back
Quite clearly this moth was a goth!

"Come follow me!"
Said the Goth Moth with glee
And fluttered away through the trees
Off Susan ventured
And finally entered
A field full of black bugs and bees

"Welcome Goth Sloth!"
Said the little Goth Moth
"To my home; we call it Goth Town
We heard of your woes
And between us we chose
To help you get back upside down".

"You'll see by the pond
Past the hedge and beyond
A hammock in which you can swing
Just hop inside
It's a wonderful ride
And you won't have to climb up a thing!"

Susan was thrilled
This Goth Moth was skilled
His hammock was tremendously good
She swung day and night
In utter delight
The happiest Goth Sloth in the wood