Lynne Jones – February 2025

A poem about the industrial marriage complex and voicing an opinion in Midlife after a lifetime of compliance.  Written after being interviewed by Pigskin.  It’s my favourite. 

Say it anyway

After years of psychotherapy 
I got an interest in transgressive poetry 
Writing in my Front room where I’d been a good mum 
about becoming a menopausal BDSM Dom 
And while I’m not sure how this poems going to go down 
And if its “appropriate” to read in a small town 
It’ OK. 
Don’t know what you’ll think 
But I’m gonna say it anyway. 
 
Some of my poems are acidic and blunt 
I’ll Joke about my ex or about my cunt 
About things I’ve seen in a swingers resort 
And I question things that I’ve been taught 
About rules and ethics and monogamy 
How heterosexual bias’ll erase bisexuality 
And I know I might rue the day 
But fuck it, I’m going to say it anyway 
 
They said hey, Tom Girl – check your identity 
They worried No one would want marry me, 
And that would be like death. 
That Taught me early on, if you don’t get a day in a big white dress 
You’re worthless. 
 
Grew up brainwashed to accept 
I was part of The Industrial Marriage Complex 
Be agreeable, be pretty, be thin. 
My marriage certificate ripped up in the bin 
And let me some young woman’s cautionary tale 
My potential was shrouded in a matrimonial veil 
Now I’m free to be, whatever I want 
And no man speaks for me. 
 
A warning, married life can get stale 
So do everything you would as if you’d been assigned as male 
Don’t lightly throw your career way 
For the promise of £184.03 a week maternity pay 
And if you’re a mum looking forward to Gin o’clock 
There’s a chance you’re already fucking up 
What ya gonna do? 
That’s something else to think about that’s controlling you. 

Met a woman getting married in Marrakech 
Planning on inviting 120 guests 
I hope she’s never in financial distress 
Got her Instagram day in big white dress 
And if she wanted some friendly advice from me, 
It would be hold back some of that currency 
And I’m resolute. 
Hold back that cash, you might need it for a decree absolute. 

Refuse to see a husband as an over Lord 
Psychiatrist diagnosed that I was clinically bored 
And the son I fed from my youthful teat 
Wouldn’t piss on my corpse if I lay burning at his feet 
So you’re not defending me from gender ideology 
And something that I learnt in psychotherapy 
Is that I’m not mad, it’s societal expectations setting us up to feel bad. 
 
So don’t know how this poem will land 
Or even if you’ll understand 
And it’s OK.  Because its irrational to expect everyone to like me anyway. 

 
Reflexivity: 

What do you think of this poem? 

What is your privilege or power in relation to this poem? 

Does it resonate? 

If so, how? 

What does it evoke for you? 

what is your response to this poem? 

“By Identifying our own personal pain around being ostracised, we become more conscious and sensitive to others around us, and more aware of how we collude in creating and perpetuating the othering process.” (Shahbaz & Chirinos, 2017).