5 Important things my great grandmother has taught me
- NOBODY should ever know ALL your business.
- Words are words and they only hold the power you give them.
- It ain’t what they call you, it’s what you answer to.
- It’s okay to be cheap but, you get what you pay for.
- Keep your credit straight, it’s more important than money.
Anonymous asked: What are a few things you wish non-Australian people knew about Australia?
I’ve been thinking about this ask for a while and here’s what I’ve come up with;
Australia is pronounced “uh-STRAY-lee-ah” rather than “AWW-stray-lee-ah”
Melbourne is pronounced “MEL-bin”, not “mel-BORN”
Brisbane is “BRIS-bin”, not “BRIS-bay-n”
Canberra is “CAN-brah”, not “can-BER-rah”
"Yeah nah" means no
"Nah yeah" means yes
"Fanny" means vagina, not butt
No-one under the age of 60 actually says “G’day mate”
Pies are full of meat
This is fairy bread and everyone should experience it’s magic at children’s birthday parties
These are thongs
These are biscuits
Male kangaroos obviously don’t have pouches because males DON’T HAVE BABIES
Kangaroos don’t just hang around people’s houses they’re wild anim- Oh wait this is my driveway;
you people are a circus
You thought it would be poetic
to fuck the girl who’d write about you?
Alright, let’s give it a go then -
You’re the boy who’s used to having
girls being handed to you on a silver platter.
You think it’s fun to have me eating
out of the palm of your hand, well
I think that’s funny coming from someone who says
they hate the game, but God do you play it well.
You pick your teeth
with the loneliness you smelled
from my bones and every girl you’ve ever undone
but joke’s on you, love,
you need us more than we need you.
Without our blood staining your tongue
all you’d taste is
how empty you’ve become
and how so hard you’re trying to be you.
You called me a coward, and maybe I am but
at least I admit it. You think you’re brave
the way you blaze through life with closed wrists?
It takes more guts to be gentle and kind.
It takes more guts to let the darkness swallow you whole than
to hold a torch screaming how indestructible you are.
One day you’ll look in the mirror and for the first time
it won’t be vanity staring back -
it will be our ghosts and your former self,
whoever the hell it was, and it will sting your throat like
Jaegermeister hidden in snow. You’ll expect me
to be awkward weak knees and all, and that’s sad
because I could save you, but I won’t.
Instead I’ll smoke my cigarette
and watch you crash and burn.
You read my writing and it"
told you not to fuck with me.
I warned you not to play with fire.
Tell me, now -
how does it feel to be a poem?