Falcone's Writing Blog

What it says on the title

[falconewrites]

The Wrong Kind of Different

"hey, did you hear about that girl who thinks she's a boy

she went to that country with all the tr*nnies and f*ggots to cut off her tits

her poor parents no more hope for grandchildren she's lucky they haven't disowned her but she's so ungrateful refusing to speak to them

if you ask me i think she might be confused she talked about being ""touched"" before you know???

or just crazy she practically has a reservation at the psych ward yes, that must be it she must be crazy because in a first world country like ours how could such a thing happen? our police force is so good our laws are so good the news would surely have reported it she probably made the whole thing up

tsk tsk the state of the world today when such degenerates are allowed to ruin the lives of good citizens

anyway

would you like to donate to our charity? we are committed to helping special children achieve their full potential we believe that no one should be disadvantaged for their differences."

[falconewrites]

So Gonna Get Arrested For This

Singapore is an inclusive society

We include sexual offenders Safeguarding their futures By silencing their consequences Because "It's too awkward to discuss in polite company"

We include child abusers With the Maintenance of Parents Act Allowing them to continue Bleeding their children dry With the law, when They no longer have the strength to wield a cane

We include murderers Who are proficient in the art of inflicting a slow Death by a thousand cuts Stripping away Healthcare Housing Jobs Everything required to exist

You tell me not to imagine That emigrating will solve all my problems And it's true that either option Might well end with my bruised and battered body being Fished out of a storm drain

But at least in a faraway land The police report might read: "He was taken too soon by unconscionable cruelty" Rather than: "It was a monster we needed to exterminate"

[falconewrites]

you taught me to fear the torches and pitchforks while slipping poison into my drink

you said you cared for me but when i'm finally happy your concern is what everyone would think

yours was not the hand slipped between my thighs but yours was the voice that laughed at my pain

and told me to be "grateful" to be shown "such interest" and sent me back again and again

"but i'm your mother!" are you? are you really? you said you have a daughter not a son

i'm sorry i don't know where she is but i think i can guess why she's gone

[falconewrites]

What Seems To Be The Problem?

we sit in round velvet upholstered couches on opposite ends of the dimly lit room the clock is uncommonly silent, the second hand flowing seamlessly with the true glissando of the violin there is a framed photo of flowers on the wall google image search tulips page 2 result number 8 “What seems to be the Problem?” she asks

the problem is that i am not the way they want me to be

the problem is that i need to cover my ears during lion dances or when people are laughing loudly in the car the problem is that i like to pick apart burgers before i eat them because the cacophony of flavours is too discordant the problem is that i get upset when the supermarket plays songs in the wrong key sung by the wrong singer because it tastes like codfish steamed in banana sauce the problem is that i talk to fishes and cats too much and to people too little the problem is that i want to discuss the evolutionary purpose of narwhal tusks and the repercussion of pizzly bears on the biological definition of species instead of asking questions whose answers i already know. (“How was exchange?” “Oh, it was fun. But expensive.”) the problem is that i don’t understand how to tell when they don’t mean what they say and what they really mean the problem is that i can’t touch or be touched without feeling like electric fire is eating me from the inside out the problem is that i don’t know when raised voices are a joke not a threat the problem is that I don’t know

how to be

it makes people stare it makes it inconvenient for them to interact with me it makes them look bad for associating with me

the problem is me

but they won’t let me erase myself

[falconewrites]

Eloquent

As a disciple of the law, words Ought to be My dominion, But a sword cannot spread colours across the canvas; Nor can a bowstring sing as the lyre.

There is Beauty In the stalactites of the crystal caverns and there is beauty in the flowers of the meadow But only in one is there warmth, and laughter, and Life -

And I have kissed the cold marble cheek of Themis.