must give away when somebody asks it.
Fucks are their blues, their esteems and their happies,
Sat in their basket ever since they wore nappies.
Fluffy or bouncy or filled with slime,
Fucks have existed since day one of time.
Unparalleled energy runs through their veins,
Lively curious creatures each basket contains.
As unique as the way your own tongue says your name
No two people’s fucks are ever the same.
All girls bear the burden of fucks every day.
For when someone is mean or throws nasty their way,
If strangers start trouble or cause an upset
Their palm is outreached and a fuck they will get.
In the morning girls’ baskets are full and stand tall,
But by bedtime there’s no fucking fucks left at all.
When the sun sets, girls sleep, have the
brightest of dreams
Of giraffes and quad biking and jelly and cream.
Becoming an astronaut or rich CEO –
To unlimited magical places they go.
Such sweet thoughts replenish their baskets of fucks,
So they rise once again, feeling up on their luck.
Yet with a new day, forever can start
With fire in your belly, such hope in your heart.
So Elodie-Rose made a plan not to care:
Those fucks in her basket were going nowhere!
Friends might call her crazy, a terrorist too,
But Elodie-Rose
Had wondered
And pondered
And thought it important
That when you have fucks,
Those fucks should
belong to just you.
Courageous, a soldier, such difference she yearned
To make to the words and the habits she’d learned.
But her mum had told her to play by the rules,
In houses and shops and in gardens and schools.
So, like clouds float in silence to make the rain fall,
Our girl left the house saying nothing at all.
Skipping to school, her young brain gave a buzz,
Arms tingling and shaking, breath short, just because
Thoughts diving and swimming within her today:
Is this normal? Does everyone else feel this way?
Like tornadoes move earth,
make the air thick with dust,
She was puzzled, whilst walking
to board the school bus.
But excitement was bubbling: she’d tell all her friends
Of the plans for the fucks and the baskets to end!
Waving madly, assuming these two girls had seen her –
One pal was named Marge and the other Edwina –
But rarely it happens, as you’ll understand,
That reactions from others will go just as planned.
This morning their four eyes were black as black soot
Or like two mouldy grapes in a basket of fruit.
Pair of icy blue faces, contorted and stretched,
Greeted Elodie-Rose as she climbed the bus steps.
Said Edwina: ‘I think you’re wrong in the head.
I heard someone tell someone that someone had said.’
Marge nodded and tutted and furrowed her brow,
‘We were best friends on Monday; we’re not best friends now!’
‘Don’t ask any reasons,’ they chorused and leered,
‘Just that he said that she said that he said you’re weird!’
Normally Elodie-Rose’s pure dear heart would sink,
So preoccupied, girls, with what other girls think.
‘Now move down the bus. There’s no seats – you should stand!’
Marge grimaced and giggled and held out her hand,
Demanding a fuck from poor Elodie-Rose,
Who had pouted her lips and sat silent and froze.
Flighty bile of the bullies, she thought it unfair
And most often got mocked for her big frizzy hair.
In heatwaves most fucks were gone by double science,
Today, Elodie-Rose’s curls slapped her face in defiance
As she shook her head back to the back of the bus
And peeped out of the window without any fuss.
Daydreamed about wizards and roses and stars,
Ignoring the bullies, Edwina and Marge.
Once again, this buzzing emerged in her mind.
Not thoughts for the girls who had been so unkind
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