Reinventing fashions gender

The newspapers may say that gender is at the forefront of today's changing world, followed with the empowering feminist movement, but far true is that? How far have we moved from male and female blinkered thinking? Or have we just reinvented the term masculine and feminine?

It wasn't until the early 20th century when women began donning the 'masculine' look and became a power of their own. Who wears the trousers? Is it time to introduce the question: who wears the dresses? Perhaps clothes should retain a certain androgynous air to them. Though the idea of feminine and masculine clothing lines still remains intact, the next step to create a middle ground is ever approaching.When searching for 'androgynous clothing lines' I'm still bombarded with the term 'tomboy' and very little, if not no, male lines. In a world that seeks feminism we seem to ignore the male counterpart. Of course it's still widely acknowledged that many men don't want to wear skirts. Consider the idea that many women didn't want to wear trousers. It's the small few that saw beyond the straight legged stiffness of office wear and saw the potential. Crop fit, skinny legged, boyfriend style. Should we be looking not at the idea of a man wearing a skirt but towards the 'feminine' cuts? Use clothes in a way that shows off their best bits and no I don't mean the crotch. Discover what fashion designers found when blending male to female, yet still allow the classic looks stand for themselves.    

My shadow

Depression: (n.) The believe that life does not get any better than the mist looming over your life.
               
Myth:
1. There is only one way the world will react to the sight of a depressed person; they are sad.
    This seems the only rose tinted opinion of people who have more trouble dealing with depression
     that anyone who could contract such an evil illness. The fear of the carrier 'spreading' their tainted
     life unto others conceives the idea that depression is sadness.
 2. Depressed people are surgically attached to sunglasses in order to block any light into their life
      and avoid the disgusting idea of 'getting better.'
             

The ugly truth:
 1. Depression is a silent passenger. You'll never know if you ride with them the same way you don't
     know if you're going to crash your car next time you drive. You can hit a speed bump to fast or
     another car can run you off the road. Sometimes the car just malfunctions.
2. You cannot contract depression from close contact. In fact depression works in opposite to the
     world; the closer you stand to them the better it becomes.
3. This does not mean that there will not be 'bad' days. The world is balanced on the edge of a pin,
     occasionally it will come crashing down.
4.  Depression is not sadness. Stephen Fry said 'depression is like the weather.'
5. Nobody ever asks to be depressed. Attention comes from isolation not from wanting a mental illness. Shaming only acts as a tornado destroying whatever foundations we may have built.
 6. We can be happy. Depression is not definitive. Being happy does not they are cured. On 'good'
     days don't wait with an umbrella expecting rain, this only reminds them of the avalanche that will
      come. Don't compare their happiness to their sadness. Let them take life as it comes, our emotions
      are not a competition.
  7. We want to get better. It's hard to image life without arms. We find it hard to live life without
      depression. Depression is safety, we know what to expect. We want to get better, we are just scared of how we are going to live without arms.

Where have I been?
Learning and facing the truth of depression. It has been there for a long time. But like the idea of living without depression,
I was terrified of life with it. The battle against myself has been settled in a peace treaty that I enjoy tearing apart
and re-writing every now and again. There's no cure. There's no triggers. I'm learning to live with a second shadow and
not be scared of the darkness that falls around me at certain times of the day. I'm learning to no allow the silent passenger
to drive. I'm not 'recovered.' I'm just not standing in the shoes of depression anymore. 
                  

The little runaways

I'd be over fantasing. I'd be insane. Lets just runaway.

It's no lie to say I work by sense; if in that moment I want to, I will. I obese over one thing at a time. I move in phases, circling around the same methods that set my soul alight. 

In a month, starting from just one day, I've taken it all apart and looked inside. Watched the heat rise from activities that beckon me. 

I think in that month I've seen a lot of what where I am has to offer. There's more... I just don't want to see it all. I don't want to lose the mystery, that one day will have be bag packing back here. 

Now I think I'd like to runaway.

Start a new adventure. Break away from the circle of routine. Feel new senses. Obess over new things. Move in different phases. Watch th heat rise from things I didn't know could capture my soul. 

Wouldn't it be a thing to live. 

The Moon and his Lover

I find myself sleeping less and less at night; basking in the eerie glow of the moon. The stars appear and moon sings his soft lullaby to set my soul alight. My mind races with one thousand fragments of dreams. Once again I write a love letter to moon... last night was no different.

I have found I love the moon,

with all his pale glow,

tricking those unconnected to the dark,

that like him, they too are ghosts.

But the moon is no apparition 

who hangs from a dead man's noose

as a gentle reminder the sun is gone

and darkness always spills in.

He does not live in the darkness.

Unseen by those who dream.

I have found I have always loves the moon,

as each night he starts to fade,

tricking those unconnected to his love,

that he cannot bare to light their way.

But the moon has taught me things unseen.

A flower grown in stars,

who in twenty-eight days will wilt.

Unseen by those who dream.

I have found I will always love the moon,

with all his timeless secrets,

tricking those unconnected to his light,

that he will only ever hide.

But the moon whispers lullabies,

until I set him free,

who kisses me awake with stars and,

meets me in my dreams

I have found the moon will always love me.

It's our foolish, wild dream,

Sometimes I hear him cry:

'that I break his fragile heart.'

For the moon never sleeps and,

some nights I never wake.