Don’t lock yourself!

Unblock yourself!

Unlock yourself!

Shock yourself!

Speak, be outspoken!

 

A pint in my local, Christmas Day 1999

First time I looked over at Danny and thought ‘Damn, he is fine’

Playing pool with the lads, Danny-boy on my mind

Bent over the table, that peachy behind

His wife on the phone saying turkey is served

I quick brushed up against him

Phwoar, his peaches were curved

Go home to your wife, to your not-so-fun life

I’ll sit here with my beer and imagine your rear

You bloody enjoyed it though you said it was nothing

Be me not your wife and the turkey you’re stuffing 

Feeling forlorn once Danny had gone

Me back in my bedroom with Christmas pudding and porn

 

"It is impossible for an Englishman to open his mouth without making some other Englishman hate or despise him"

George Bernard Shaw,  Pygmalion (1916)

 

Danny later took me aside during a footie lads meet

And told me he knew I was gay by the way that I speak

‘Don’t bother me mate,’ he said, ‘that particular street

But I hope I don’t catch it; did you get it from something you eat?

I know I’m not gay, I was just having a peek

at the size of Ben’s tackle whilst he was having a leak

I might listen to Kylie and boogie to Chic

I got a big hard on when Ben did a streak

Him running stark bollock naked at the footie last week

Running over the pitch when the Gunners got beat

All of us lads admired the size of his meat

But me, a full time full blown gayboy

Sure. I’ve thought about dipping my toe in but never my feet!’ 

 

Don’t lock yourself!

Don’t lock yourself!

Don’t lock yourself!

Don’t lock yourself!

The lock is broken!

 

Growing up with the lads

Acting my lad-self amongst my mates 

Who liked women and I liked men

 Still doing things that ‘lads’ do

But me not being straight is what differentiates

Me from them We all drank beer and played pool in the pub

And then I opened my mouth to speak

 

And my voice, its tone, its hue

Its texture separates me from them

We do not sound the same, I was convinced my voice creates

A division to the point I hated the sound of my own voice

So for years, I kept it buttoned, closed my mouth and did not speak

 

This was a time in my life when I thought the way I spoke perpetuates

negative stereotypes and microagrsessions by certain straights

Did my voice give away the secret I kept at bay

Trying not to divide me from them

Sound manly, act the geezer on my Harley

Hide that in my bedroom,

I learnt the language of gay slang Polari

Be the bloke when I spoke ‘Alright mate’, ‘Alright Dad’

I tried to sound more ‘lad’

 

Don’t mock yourself!

Don’t knock yourself!

Shake up yourself!

Wake up yourself!

Wake the unwoken!

 

I’m the elusive poetress existing in liminal states

With a voice no longer haunting her, her voice now liberates

She’s as vocal as Samuel Beckett’s Not I,

A voice that no more self-violates 

Speaking without respite or restraint 

taking pride in its texture when she speaks

 

I’ve recently liberated my body from years of self-shaming

Now it’s the turn of my voice that I’m firmly reclaiming

 

We are sorry to interrupt this programme but we have a newsflash 

 

Ces actions intentionnelles et volontaires par lesquelles les hommes non seulement se fixent des règles de conduite, mais cherchent aussi à se transformer, à se changer dans leur être singulier, et à faire de leur vie une œuvre

 

Monsieur Michel Foucault defines the care of the self in terms of those intentional and voluntary actions by which men not only set themselves rules of conduct, but also seek to transform themselves, to change themselves in their singular being, and to make their life into an oeuvre

 

You who smiled when you were in pain
You who soldiered through the profane

Now enter your watchman, your talisman too

Making sure you practice self-care, Here’s what I’ll do

I’ll be your Gil Scott-Heron (Jamie XX mix)

I'll take care of, I’ll take, I’ll take, I’ll take, I’ll take care of

 

Me as the guardian keeper of POW! Play on Words

I’m your warrior of care, keep you sky high with the birds

You’ve got guts and your gallant at clever wordplay

Anyone berating your talent, they’ve outwelcomed their stay

Self-doubt get on out, that shit’s well had it’s day

Bring on your own reclamation, my beautiful friend,

I wanna see you soar in every way.