A brand of soap keeps appearing on my Facebook timeline, asking me to advertise for it by sending its ‘you’re beautiful’ post to my friends.
What I’d rather say to my friends is this: you’re all kinds of smart, you’re funny, you’re wise, you’re so so patient teaching me to drive that old tank, you’re curious and full of thoughtful questions, you make the best banana bread, you’re inspiring, you’re brave, you’re huge hearted and you don’t take crap. You’re resilient, you’re strong, you say sorry when you need to, and you remember the names of all the different screwdriver heads. You’re good with kids, with old people, with shy people; you ARE shy people, old people, kids. You are extrovert lit like a firework, you are roman candle and catherine wheel and the smell of birthday wishes hanging in the air. You are good with quiet, with the pauses, internal, and damn, I admire that. You are creative and compassionate and the kind of company I love best and yes, as well as drawn and crumpled, sore and threadbare some days, you are beautiful, sure, but at the risk of sounding like that guy from Fight Club, you are not an ad for a bar of detergent. You, my friend, are dear, and you are loved.
I wrote this song based on how I’ve felt when I’ve been at my lowest and clinging on to the hope that it will be better again one day. Remember, you are loved!
Accepted for being you
but were you really?
Really didn’t get to know
the real beautiful you
their loss, not yours.
You accepted who you are
as did your true friends
and not just for entertainment value
or being politically correct.
This is my personal view
being different doesn’t suck
actually it bloody rocks
and I don’t give a fuck.
© Carol Robson 2012
Mum, Dad, don’t you know I’m really a girl.
Mum, Dad, don’t you know I’m really a boy.
torment, anguish, no one listens
please listen to me, I’m hurting
confused, troubled, but I know the truth.
Getting older, it doesn’t go away.
Mum and Dad, you are listening now
however, others don’t, I’m scared.
Schools a bad place, taunted, and teased
shut your mouth, they say, I can’t, I won’t.
They see someone, but that’s not me
real me, being torn apart inside.
Please listen to me, I’m hurting
hurting from physical and mental torture
outside, inside, bruised and scarred.
Mum, Dad, finally you realise, I need help
the right help, to be my true self
saved from the ravages of masculinisation
saved from the ravages of feminisation
saved from a life of inner torment and anguish
saved from suicide.
Taunts and bullying lessen, but still there
bigots and bullies afraid to learn
they now see the real me, just being me
is that so scary, is that so bad?
Acceptance isn’t so hard,
want to know, just ask.
Family and true friends, accept, love me,
love me for who I am.
Mum and Dad love their daughter
Mum and Dad love their son
finally, so happy, no longer hurting
just being, the real me.
© 2013 Carol Robson
I came, I went, I’m here again
Not the same, different, but still me
Was happy, but sad
Looking for answers, afraid to ask
Alas! hidden behind the mask
Moving in a life with those I love
Yet! no real friends, fear behind the mask
Acquaintances only, which is so sad
A partner and children I so dearly love
Yet! still hidden behind the mask
Years fall away
The hiding stays
Fear of exposure
Hurting those I love
Who is really hurting
Behind the mask
Angel of death beckoned
It was so real
Not like me
Still living a lie
Near death behind the mask
Guardian angel came and I clawed back
It was the time for the mask to fade
Gradually it falls away
However, the hurt and the pain stay
For those who mean so much to me
No longer a need to hide
Truly loved ones are by my side
The real me is flourishing now
The actor is no longer needed
No more mask
Here is the real me
Family, friends and soul mates
So dear to me
Their love for me, just being me
I came, I went, I am finally here.
© 2011 Carol Robson
There never was another you,
nor will there be; no matter who
you are, you have a special place,
a fleeting slice of time and space
to brighten as you journey through.
And every day provides anew
small deeds that only you can do,
reflecting in each grateful face
that you are loved.
Be who you are, and thus be true,
not what the world would make of you;
coercion is its own disgrace;
no criticism can efface
that you are loved.