Tag Archives: writing

Toxic Masculinity and the word ‘sook’

At the begin of school today I heard two adults talking about a children’s party they’d attended and how a boy had been a ‘sook’ at the party. This is the second time I’ve heard the word used in the last few days.
I have a massive problem with the word sook. Particularly because it’s usually used to describe a boy when they are emotional.
Looking up the definition I see the words cowardly and ‘crybaby’. In the urban dictionary it defines sook as to ‘act like a pussy arse bitch’.
And there we have another problem. Using a member of the female anatomy in a derogative way… to explain an emotion… in a derogative way.
On saturday I talked with a male friend of mine about toxic masculinity. How are we helping our boys if we call them sooks? If we say feeling scared / hesitant enough not to want to do something… or simply feeling emotional … makes you a ‘pussy arse b’.
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Wonderland

When I was just

a little girl

My mother showed me how to

sew seeds

so

I could live like Alice does

in a wonderland.

At the time we drew them blooming from the earth

Knees dusted in dirt

All I could hear were their howls and screams.

As a woman

thinking on how I am plucked and tugged and wrenched and dislocated

I pat the soil around my babies and promise they will

come to full term

Germinate

Pollinate

and, when the wind threatens to carry them away,

Disperse

and knit themselves into crusts and crevices

for you to wonder at

when you are screaming.

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Hilarious

You

Kookaburra

Cackling and snortling the arrival of another day

as if to say

‘Yup humans

You’ve got to do it again you poor fuckers’.

In his laugh the promise of a scorcher

An ear drum and nasal cavity of insects

And a crusted, headlong, headstrong bitumen to navigate.

I don’t know where he pisses off to for the rest of the day

But he sure as hell doesn’t chortle when he’s in the thick of it either.

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One day

We will crack peppercorns and rub them into our neck for perfume.

When we come to the corner where the stargazer lily edges over the fence

I will say ‘Lean in.

Closer.

Closer’.

At the point you wobble

Topple

over

into it

We will marvel at the tiny pebbles etched into your knee…

Until the sound of spokes and wheels meet your ears and I witness your ache for age to arrive

For when can you too pedal and glide?

As your body begins to weigh upon mine with the stories you’ve collected this, one day

Your hands will collect the back of my head so you can meet my gleam.

‘How is it…’

we will say

‘…all of this

is ours?’

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Untitled 

 

I want to own beautiful things.

A hardwood floor

to sprawl about in summer.

A needle

that peaks on vinyl

A rose

that animates the air

before it has been seen.

 

I want to reside as a dangling bra strap on your shoulder

My eyes to default to the furrowed creases between brow and bristles at your moment of O

My mouth to savour the bare breaths

when you part

my kimono.

 

I want every pen indentation

to arrest with intonation

that mornings lathering of soap

The groan you couldn’t help

And that era when my name

sounded like love.

 

I acquiesce

I don’t want

much else

 

Except perhaps

to see the lakes surface quivering above her privates

To feel

damp clumps of moss mat beneath my bare arse

And to curl

into cotton

And blossoms

as they drop

in the air.

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Pearl 

I wish I did not write about love. 

I wish I had not let them brand me. 

If I am on the market 

How will people know if this subject 

is the only way I’m in print?
I wish I did not write about nature

Specifically how it makes my ovaries blossom. 

If I am only fertile these few more years

All ready engraved in pollen 

How will anything other than sticky stamen penetrate? 
I wish I did not write about Venus. 

She gives away my distance, timing and rotation. 

If I am not pulled by internet routers 

Rather

Turned out from churning oceans

Pearl soaked

How will I find connection? 
I wish I did not write about you. 

You 

who have folded language over in the mouth so it

Curses in hisses of spit and sputum. 

If I am to share saliva again

How can I turn my tongue over? 
I wish I had not written.

Pen and paper has given me away. 

Perhaps though in ink 

You could endorse this woman’s indentations. 

I am simply blotched 

Stamped 

Bleeding about the page like the rest of you. 
Press me to your adjoining pages 

I will etch in so you read me well. 

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Girl 

Today she thought 

I miss being a girl. 
How many times these months

chants & championing 

The words 

woman & strong 

impregnated so as she might erupt

An Orphic egg

Spit out a new cosmos amongst the darkness

maybe, 

Create from the wound. 
She was sorry to let the universe down. 
But when she buckled up her own helmet before riding 

when she took her own hand to cross the road against the lights   

She shuffled her feet at the curb & breathed

‘All the women in me are tired. 

I miss being someone’s girl’. 

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Refuge 

Come in.

Lay your body down.

This place

it is

a refuge.

You.

Warrior

…with your armor up

…and your iron eyes

…and your stiffened lips

Unfurl your hair

let it avalanche down your steel shoulders

and flush cheek bone

and breast.

 

Come in.

Lay your body down.

This place

it is

a refuge.

Tell me your stories

Let your tongue tease out the learning

Your muscles ease out the burning

and your heart

so swollen

…let it leech out for awhile.

 

Give. me. your. lungs. warrior.

A baby would know what to do under such circumstances.

I am giving you permission to do the same.

Make your mournful sounds.

You have not forgotten how

only pretended.

 

Give. me. your. salt. warrior.

Your lacrimation will be a final desalination

Through pores

excrete what your body can no longer contain.

I will gather the delicate crystalline in my palms

and with index finger and thumb

we will use it to season

what. comes. next.

 

Come in.

Lay your body down.

Dear warrior

This place

it is

your refuge.

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My morning glory 

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Despite

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