Rebellious Old Lady

I’m NOT doing it.
I’ve had it up to here,
Washing, cleaning,
Worst of all, cooking.
Someone must come in,
Fill the pots with food,
Put them on the table
When I’m not looking.
No more making beds.
It’s like I said.
I’ve had it up to here.
All that washing-
Clothes and plates, cooker, sink-
All needing done again,
If I so much as blink. 

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I’m odd and different
My love for books and rock and roll
Is something my family don’t get
I argue and disagree with them all the time
I wear things that my parents disapprove of, saying
“You’re a girl, why do you dress like that”
“Why don’t you wear something that isn’t black”.
I want a lot of tattoos and I want to dye my hair, ombre of blues and purples
Which is a no because they love my hair
“Too many tattoos are ugly”
“Piercing are just holes in the face”
So I had to go against my parents just to get a simple nose piercing.

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Are you a real rebel? Or someone who just thinks they are? Take our handy test below to find out more. Here’s how to rank your score:

0-2          You buy books by Salman Rushdie and Zadie Smith. And never read them. But still talk about them at dinner parties.

3-4          You once thought Richard Dawkins was a bit of an idiot. Or suspected that a lot of medical research is a waste of time.

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Rebel with a Cause

Warning: this piece contains strong language

I am a rebel with a cause

I never pause to think

I dont shrink

the words simply slink from my mouth like angry ink

I splatter them on everyone 

I can't lie, it's kind of fun.

people roll their eyes as i cry,

but what about animals lives? black women, trans and gay, lebsian and bi?

I'm not afraid of a fight.

I need to do what's right, it's my responsibiliy as a cis, straight white. 

I might be a witch

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Rebel without a handbag

On the 20th of May I walked down Bruce Street without a bag.

I have given up bag carrying. No handbag, carrier bag, or holdall of any kind, not even the respectable cotton shopper with identifying bookshop logo. I feel naked, so naked, that for the first time in years, I feel as if people are looking at me.

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Ye Cannae Shove Yer Grannie Aff A Bus

I wis aboot eleven when it happened. Didnae really ken whit it meant tae be honest. I'd heard the wurd 'cancer' before o'course but I didnae realise it wis a bad wurd. But there I wis. An unwitting part against an airmie, an airmie no made up o'people, but my ain bloody blood cells.

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What makes a Rebel?

What makes a Rebel?


Minute by minute,

tip toeing towards change.

Conscience nudged forward   

by a father on strike.

Scrambled eggs again for tea.


Age fifteen.

Innocence lost

to a dead eyed glance

from the cardboard elegance

on Glasgow’s mean streets.

Pause for five minutes.

Share a word, a smile

with those who wait for the day

when someone recognises them

as a son, a daughter.


Age twenty one.

Step over the unbound lepers

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My non-existent essay.

In my last few weeks at school, I was ordered along with the rest of my peers to write an essay on the theme of “The British Commonwealth” for a competition.

I hated my school. I particularly hated my headmaster. I hated competitions. I had no opinion that the Commonwealth was exclusively a force for good. And I utterly detested being told what to write. So I spent my time in the library, like the others. I read stuff, I have no idea what. I made notes, apparently.

I did not write the essay.

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Rebel Poet

Warning: this piece contains strong language

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You can't ban me

Jamie bit her lip, as she walked up the football field behind her parents. Would they still consent? They encouraged her to be herself, but mum wasn’t too enthusiastic about her running around in shorts. Nervously she spun the ball under her arm, while she scanned the boys on the field. They didn’t even waste a single look on her. Since the ban three years ago everything had changed. When women had once drawn more spectators to the games than men, the Football Association ban of 1921 effectively killed the women’s game.

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