Innocence – Skirtingroundmylife

Selfie Queen

This poem is probably one of the most personal ones I’ve ever written. It recalls a childhood memory from my primary school years and shows just how far I’ve come in the time since I was afraid to show myself in my class photograph. It was recently published in the Wee Dreich 5 anthology and it’s titled Selfie Queen I hope you enjoy the read as much as the young female footballer who encouraged me to write it.

Selfie Queen.

School Photograph
primary years
in the summer of 72
cloudless skies
disguise one child’s inhibitions
sitting in the front row
their face is hidden
from the camera
as friends and classmates smile
who knew the boy
ashamed to be seen
in a childhood memory
would in later years become a selfie queen
and share her new pictures on Instagram

Thunder Clouds

In this poem for National Coming Out Day I relate the story of knowing I didn’t fit in to the gender box society had selected for me before my age even reached double digits and being smart enough to know what to say and what not to say in those socially conservative times. I also suggest the knowledge gained in my pre teen years may have made my teenage years a lot safer and easier to navigate than may otherwise have been the case. I’ve given it the title Thunder Clouds due to the nature of my Presbyterian upbringing in the Scotland of the 1970’s I hope you enjoy the read.

Thunder Clouds

Long before the Osmonds I knew
though there was a difference
between knowing and saying .
in those days you didn’t tell the world
you wanted to be a girl.
Imagine what the neighbours would say
let alone your friends in school
it wasn’t cool to come out
or be proud of who you were
at such a young age
god help you if you said it out loud
you would either be patronised
and told it was just a phase
or warned that thunder clouds would strike you down
for the shame you would bring on the family
sexuality was never discussed
except to mock those perceived as different
and anyway you were assumed to be innocent
till at least your high school years
the days when fears plagued your teens
concerned that you’d be found out
and somehow they would know
by the way you looked
or the jokes you never told
now older and wiser you realise
there was a difference between knowing and saying
and they were only acting the roles
for which they had been conditioned
the parts society had auditioned them to play
you forgave them their sins
on the night you came out as a woman
on behalf of the girl they had never met
or never thought they had
the girl you knew you were
long before the Osmonds
and every day there after.

The Snowman

This poem from the archives is still a very personal one for someone who reached my teens in the mid 1970’s and was often subjected to name calling . On relating this information to my parents I found that they had very different views on how I should deal with it. My mum who was far more culturally conservative than my dad, frequently told me that sticks and stones can break your bones but names can never hurt you. Fortunately my dad never believed that tired old line and he taught how to stand up for myself by using words wisely. As a poet that is exactly what I’ve tried to do and this anti bullying poem which I titled The Snowman hopefully shows that I have did as Samuel Taylor Coleridge would suggest in placed the best words in the best order. I hope you enjoy what I think will be a thought provoking read.

The Snowman

You saw a snowman yesterday
he smiled but your pals just frowned
and then you all threw sticks and stones
to knock the snowman down

You teased him and tormented him
you made the snowman cry
you didn’t think he had a heart
you stood and watched him die

And as he faded bit by bit
from many people’s lives
it showed the world the deepest wounds
don’t come from guns and knives

They’re fired from others careless lips
those words of hate and pain
when cowards who shut the whole world out
get 15 minutes of fame

The damage caused to innocents
by those as cold as snow
is felt by those the victim left
and bullies never know

The snowman had a lot of friends
who loved his happy face
and unlike thugs they’ll make this world
a kinder safer place.

Dancing To Different Songs

In this poem I look at that summer when I started both my teenage years and moved up to from the safety of primary school to the adventures and turbulence of what would become my high school years. This was the time when my crushes on my would be celebrity boyfriends became slightly less pure and a lot more lustful and my taste in boys changed from blushing at the cute boy next door to wanting the bad lad down the street. To mark that change I’ve given the title Dancing To Different Songs I hope you enjoy the read.

Dancing To Different Songs

As I started the big school
The Bay City Rollers were replacing the Osmonds
in many teenage hearts including mine
I was beginning to watch the Waltons
I was 13 a trans teen
in a Glasgow housing scheme
dreaming of boys
I wished I could get the part of John Boy’s Girlfriend
have our hearts entwined forever
until the twelfth of never
In that mythical land
where family values and apple pie meant love and safety
from the big bad world outside
It was a place I could hide
for 50 minutes each Monday
though for the rest of the week
I wanted a bad boy to show me
he had the moves I needed to learn
to keep on dancing
I yearned for him
his name was Les
the poster boy for nice girls
who wanted to be naughty sometimes
It was time to say goodnight John Boy
as I longed to get the gladrags on
for my summer love sensation
I was the good girl
who dreamed of being bad
but was too prim and proper
to do anything about it
except replace the posters in my scrapbooks
as I began dancing to different songs
knowing I had outgrown my puppy love

What Every Woman Wanted

This poem was inspired by a post on the Lost Glasgow Facebook Group which asked members for memories of that well known Glasgow department store What Every Woman Wants. Being of the age to remember that shop I decided to remember it in this poem which I’ve titled What Every Woman Wanted. I hope you enjoy the read.

What Every Woman Wanted

A shop that symbolised
the Glasgow of my 1970’s teens
what every woman wants
was a treasure trove of dreams
for girls who wanted to be girls
but weren’t permitted to be
because society said we couldn’t
it wouldn’t be allowed
I had a head full of dreams
with Donny and the Rollers
playing leading roles
I tried to control my feelings
but painted my nails
at every chance I got
I was a swot at school
knowing if I played by mum’s rules
she would take me there
for secret shopping
as she called it
skirts and tights bought
to be worn at those weekends
when my older brother went fishing with my dad
to teach him man’s skills
meanwhile I was dressing in frills
and loving being the girl
I knew I was
despite getting boy presents
from Santa Claus
or to be more accurate
my family
I dreamed of dancing lessons
I could never take
on the grounds of having two left feet
my treats would come later
like the Saturday mornings
I would be taken for a bite to eat
with my aunts and other women friends
I think deep down she knew
the truth she had to hide
because society said it couldn’t be allowed
and though she tried to dismiss it as a phase
she knew the day would come
when I would live my life
and get what every woman wanted for myself

Living A Lie

In this poem I look at the later half of my teenage years and recall a difficult journey as I started questioning who I was and who I wanted to be. Knowing I wanted to be female at a time when that wasn’t allowed meant I had to keep my real identity secret as I didn’t want to get bullied or even worse beaten up by some boys who would have viewed me a threat to the masculinity they were told they had to wear as a badge of honour. This was not an easy poem to write but I’m really glad I’ve written it. I’ve given it the poem Living A Lie I hope you enjoy the read.

Living A Lie

Looking back through memories frozen in time

I realise how much I’ve been through

school was hard when there were secrets to keep

and in the Scotland I grew up in

there things I had to keep hidden

for fear of peers labelling me queer

or using other terms of abuse

to hurt me and others like me

I knew boys excited me in ways no girl ever could

I cared more about what they were wearing

I shared secrets with them

about the kind of stuff

no boy would ever be told

in colder days I kept quiet

though often dismissed I knew my feelings were real

though for the most part I stayed silent

the implied threats of violence

was not something I wanted to test

sexuality and gender were seldom if ever discussed

in case boys laughed or girls blushed

who knows how many dreams were crushed

by the macho culture of the times

in the 1970’s though legal in England and Wales

being LGBT was still a criminal offence up here

this made no sense yet some of my mum’s friends

called it an English disease

despite the fact they would crawl on their knees

to save their queen and their union

they accepted things as they were

rather than look for solutions

to problems they would sooner ignore

or leave at someone else’s door

until it came to their own

and it was their son and daughter

who decided to come out

no wonder certain issues

were never talked about at school

as a culture of bullying was tolerated

and those were different knew why

living a lie was easier

than telling a truth that would cost you friends

and make sure you never got the chance

to dance at Christmas disco’s

as a kiss under the misseltoe

remained a distant dream

to be enjoyed only by others

The Price Of Prejudice

I wrote this poem on International Day of Disabled People on the issues of being both a disabled person with hidden impairments who also happens to be a transwoman. Needless to say this can often result in sterotyping you wouldn’t believe unless you’d been at the other end of it and some ludicrous assumptions being made as to what you can and can’t do particularly when it comes to affairs of the heart or if you want to be honest about it sex. So for the avoidance of doubt let me just say I have as a healthy a sexual appetite as any woman but if and when I take a lover I will decide who it is and what is or isn’t permissible It is with this in mind I have written a poem which though hard hitting is not without humour. After consulting with friends I have titled it The Price Of Prejudice I hope you enjoy the read.

The Price Of Prejudice

As a trans woman I’m visible
because I refuse to hide
no matter what snide remarks
the intellectually challenged
may attempt to make
I will not break to please them
or their stereotypical views
this is a newsflash to caveman
your time ended long ago
but there’s something else
I think you should know
you see I’m not just trans
I’m a disabled transwoman
I know you’ll think I’m less than human
but I really don’t give a damn
for your opinions
my conditions are not ones
you can actually see
but they are part of me
and yes I do have sex
I just dont want to have it with you
trust me Prince charmless
I’ve invented things
you would never be able to do
well not without losing a few pounds
and I don’t mean in the bookies or arcades
the only thing getting laid
when your around is a table
so what if you give me two labels
for the price of one
I play dumb and ignore your idea of fun
before moving on to better times
with better looking guys
that may surprise you
well it will
but this girl knows who she is
and why it matters
I don’t want rescued by some dodgy knight
in second hand armour
I want a man who can keep me in armani
you might call me a tranny
but you can’t turn me on
it’s way beyond your ability
it’s not who you are
there are stars in the sky
but you only ever see clouds
you think loudness is a substitute for funny
it isn’t and you need to know your limits
if children were a raffle prize
it’s safe to say your folks didn’t win it
and the only 69 you’ll get tonight is a bus
meanwhile my t-shirt says orgasms are us
but only one of us is faking reality
and it isn’t me
I know you want me
it’s the reason you haunt me
in spite of me being able to tick
every box in a diversity form
you scorn me in front of your friends
pretend you don’t fancy me
or find me attractive
I know you do you’d love us
to be sexually active with each other
under the cover of night
you could have been Mr Right
if you’d known how to behave
but I’m saving myself for a hero
who won’t trip over his ego
in the middle of the dance floor
and won’t put me second
in a contest with the bathroom mirror
god knows I don’t do vanity
I’ve never been in to faking reality
you take me as I am with all my imperfections
life is not a selection box
where you take what you like
and leave the others to fight
for the scraps you’ve left them
as you rearrange the packaging
making sure it is all correctly labelled
and the special offers say
buy one prejudice get one free.

Minefield

In this poem I look I look at the period covering my pre to early teens when I suddenly realised I may be slightly different from who society perceived to be and relate the story of how I navigated my way these challenging times. I’ve the poem Minefield I hope you enjoy the read

Minefield

Knowing myself I knew

I was different to others at school

I didn’t conform to gender rules

but in crueller days

I played the game the traditional way

and went to war with myself

practicing resistance and suppression

of all my natural desires

no matter how hard I tried to pretend

the heart is never a liar

threats of being sent to the bad fire

somehow failed to impress me

as a Church of Scotland child

I felt the pain of eternity

I had no confession to unload my burden

no chance of absolution

just confusion as to why

I didn’t fit the picture

taunts of sissy my everyday reality

from boys at school

it was hard if the barbs came

from someone I liked or had a crush on

but if they were ugly I coped better

boys in home knitted sweaters

were never my type

though to be truthful

intellect mattered more to me than looks

a studious type my head was always in books

so I liked boys who had a willingness to learn

and knew how to keep secrets

my teens were a minefield of celebrities and local heroes

who played football in the park

till the stars were used as floodlights

but I never told any of the ones I liked

in case I got a split lip for my sins

sometimes we accept there are games we can’t win

and I knew the pain of defeat

in the years when if you believe the stories

men were men, women were grateful

and nobody cared about equality

far less respected people’s right to be themselves

times have changed since those days

when my mother who never went to church

insisted we watched songs of praise

and last of the summer wine

where we learned nothing

but hymns we would soon forget

and what life would be like when we’re old

this was the vision I was sold

whilst being told

to be content in the knowledge

that things will never change that much

I only listened to the good bits of her story

my editing skills learned early

as I selected what I thought was worthy advice

preferring to listen to the words

of god and a gran who could show me

socialism in scripture

and teach me how to set it

in a very personal context

as I learned life lessons

and declared a truce with my heart

I admitted my truth to the world

which ended the war with myself

Yesterday’s Song

Sometimes you don’t need to see someone for them to know you remember them on their birthday and every day. I’ve written this poem which I’ve titled Yesterday’s Song for a cousin I haven’t seen in years and may never see again but she will always matter to me and she knows the reasons why. I hope she’s having a lovely birthday she totally deserves it.

Yesterday’s Song

Somewhere in the west end
my cousin celebrates
the passing of time
as the clock ticks on
this was the girl who knew me
better than I did
in the 1970’s Glasgow
which was more macho
than I could handle
at a time when Scotland was conservative with a small c
she dropped hints which made suggestions
almost like speaking in code
though no words were said
sometimes I would blush
when she joked about Donny’s posters on my wall
she would never ask if I liked him
she didn’t need to
sometimes a girl just knows
as a poet I understand the meaning
of showing not telling
smelling the coffee is easier
if you use all the senses to do it
I was hiding myself but she saw through the disguise
looking back I realise her bravery
when she brought a 12 year old a book
to hospital to enjoy
she was saying I hear you
I’m listening to your voice
this wasn’t the reading material
you would give to ‘ a normal boy’
filled as it was with pop stars , celebrities and fashion advice
pictures of dresses and skirts
and tips on how to style them
to look the best you can
safe to say it kept me occupied
long after my hospital stay
on my 21st birthday she and her fiance
sent me a card which proudly proclaimed
if you think sex is a pain in the arse
you’re doing it wrong
yesterday’s song might not sound so good now
but in turbulent times
it gave me hope
I don’t think anyone else
even got the joke
in the summer of 82
we had not yet awoke to possibilities
that we could be true to ourselves
we lied to others
just so they could be happy
but she smiled and said nothing
to shelter me from the storms
and the reactions of family, friends, and neighbours
which could have left me stranded
and abandoned by the pack

First Crush

On the day my first love turns 60 I write this poem for Donny Osmond. Trust me I have a lot to thank him for and I still smile when I think of him even now. I’ve given it the title First Crush I hope you enjoy the read.

Happy Birthday Donny X

First Crush.

From the moment that puppy love topped the charts

a teenage singer stole my heart

I was 11 and easy made blush

he was my hero my first real crush

I joined the fan club and got teased

I dreamed when I watched him on TV

he helped me be the girl I became

I smiled every time I heard his name

he was my poster boy forever

the love of my life till the twelfth of never

except he wasn’t, times move on

but still I remember days long gone

these were the days before my teens

I recall songs and magazines

and even now I still blush

when I think of Donny my gorgeous first crush