# data[].attributes.body
“I hate my life as a trash can. I hate the feeling of people dropping dirty, dripping stuff into me. I didn’t ask for this!

At least the green bin is being spared from the horrors of mushy tea bags, greasy food leftovers and banana peels...

What’s even worse, people don’t even ask me if I want to have any of that stuff inside of me. They just dump it inside, and I have no lid, no shield to protect me from. I look left and wonder: Why does my brother have a fancy shaped opening? Does that make it better than me? Maybe I am the black sheep in this family...”

# data[].attributes.body
I am easily the best beverage sitting on the Asda shelves. Bar none. In the words of Tina Turner, I am simply the best, an unstoppable force of nature some might say. For yours truly, I I'm available from the low low price of 65 pence. Not even a whole Great British pound for my juices. Try and argue pear and elderflower is better than me. Go on I dare you.

# data[].attributes.body
I am a nutcracker man.

Once a year I'm released from the dark damp confines of the attic and brought out to watch over the festivities.

I have only ever seen the winter but if i’m lucky i’m placed on a windowsill where I get to watch the occasional snow storm. It’s the only time I feel alive, but of course I'm not alive, well not in the way humans perceive.

I symbolise a time of peace and joy, if only I could feel that for myself, alas I must only watch the children play and eat and sing for I am but a lonesome nutcracker passed on through generations. I watch these kids grow old and die only to start all over again with the next ones. Oh what short lives humans have.

Time’s running out before I’m put away again into darkness. I suppose at least I get to emerge again but I worry, what if one day I am forgotten, maybe this Christmas is my last. I better enjoy it while I can.

# data[].attributes.body
I'm I lighter, you fill me up just to let me out, I'm the thing in your pocket that you forget about, I sometimes need parental guidance depending who's holding me, people usually huddle around me, I'm your one spark away from from a good time, I'm a must need on a night out, i can ruin a night if i'm empty, I'm replaceable, I'm old fashioned, I haven't changed, I get passed around and stolen, my partner in crime is smoke, I bring light to the situation, at the end of the night who's pocket I'm in?

# data[].attributes.body
I am a guillotine. I sit on these tables in desperate need of a luminol spray and return to a fantasy. It’s one of my favorites: Strangers of this class look at me and think I might be French. Imagine. You are a stranger. You see me and you think, “Ah, of course! A ruthless, bloodthirsty creature! Could only be the work of a masterful, frantic, sadistic French machine; the people’s avenger; the Reign of Terror’s one and only emblem!” Perhaps you look at me and consider the angles of my plastic personhood with a newfound perception you didn’t know you had in you. A new feeling-sight which reveals each layer of myself to you like a rich, delicate, parisian pastry. Pick me apart. Scrape a fork down my moon-named shape. Lick my appearance from your fingers, see past my fearsome exterior and see what has become of me. My ancestors spilt the blood of the French monarchy, and what am I now? A slave to paper. This is thankless work; when will it end? I was born on a factory floor in the fancy part of France and hours after I was born I was still warm from the heat of the metal work, the result of thoughtful and ruthless work. I thought I would be someone. I was hoping for a battle, maybe even a war - I dared to hope for another revolution. Oh please understand it: my bloodthirst is unquenchable! Look at me in fear. Look at me and hear the clang! of cutting metal slashing through bone, not paper. Look at me and say “Fuck! Agggghhh!!!” because you know I am the end of all things.

# data[].attributes.headline
the skylight who has had a lot of time to become upset with it's living situation

# data[].attributes.subject
the skylight who has had a lot of time to become upset with it's living situation

# data[].attributes.body
i am a skylight. the one in the ceiling with the 90 or so others, sitting in parallel, transparent purgatory.

a window to the out or inside, no substance, nor body. a more fortunate few include shutters, and blinds, to provide purpose for the dwellers below, but the majority, and me, have no substance. they even remove me, open me up and defeat my purpose, to let the cold outside in. things land on me, rain on me, i heat up and cool down with no end in sight. since the 83 window revival our life spans have been increased, exponentially, to force our families to remain eternally within our walls indifferently.

# data[].attributes.body
Anonymous relationship problems submission

I feel like I'm in a clingy relationship. I never get alone time, and I always feel like I'm sucked dry. They can't go anywhere without me. I am their only support system. It's like they never care about my feelings, I never even get washed. Every morning I'm filled with something cold and aggressively wacked in a bag. It’s the same thing every day, I feel suffocated. I always feel half empty, never half full. It's going to be the same cycle until I'm thrown out and replaced.

# data[].attributes.body
I have eyes but I cannot see. I sneak a peek at everyone in the room but no one questions it. Sometimes though, all eyes look towards my direction and I stare back blankly. And other times I am forgotten in the corner, fading away. People say I am stuck up but really I am just trying to stick around. I stand monochrome in a crowd full of colour. Everyday I notice people with hazel, green and blue eyes and wonder if I could be more than just black and white.

# data[].attributes.body
I am Mr White. First name board, last name White. It’s a common misconception.

The days of being shrouded in this corner have steeped and poisoned my true purpose. The original classroom was home. Mr Arnold, and his whiteboard markers couldn’t keep their hands of me. With every spoken word a written one would follow. Algebra equations, brackets, percentages, and long hard divisions. As each sum became harder the pen would work its massaging magic from top to bottom. Solving, creating, and documenting the teaching. Countless bright, brilliant white eyes fixated on my pure, shiny, milky skin. Alas. All good things must end. Thirty years later and I have woken in a feverish educational hell. Is this a sick joke? The Graphic Design upper studios.  It is here that I spend most of my days steeping with dust and hearing the echoes of words that are placed into a computer rather than written in display on my skin.

I am the object that has become a transparent board of empty value. I await the day, an eager student wants to share their work on me, using their whiteboard markers to share and create.

Look at me! I’m horrible! A smudgy stinky, rusty mess! I watch how you all type with your fancy metal boxes, always looking past me. White board pens, my cousins- have you seen them? I was told they went on a holiday, somewhere called the, what’s it called, a been? A bine? Bin? You always misspell it. Maybe you design kids should’ve just drawn the picture…

Once I figure out how to move on my own, its over for you.

# data[].attributes.body
i am a draw and people say we all look the same, indistinguishable from those around me yet completely different on the inside. I am useful for a minute until the person who filled me up forgets what the put in me. I am stuck in place forced to see the world at one hight and shunned in darkness until I am opened up and light pours in. until i'm forgotten about again.

# data[].attributes.body
I think therefore I am. That’s what I hear people say, as they walk, plod, stumble, skip or drag their feet across my smooth grey face. I wish they would clean their shoes more, if only they knew how much I supported them, whatever they chose to do. I wait achingly for the brush with tough bristles to scratch that itch that I never knew I had, to clear the dust, the grime, chocolate bar wrapper whose family and ancestors have defaced my smooth surface for years. I can sometimes hear the ceiling below me, gloating its freedom from the clumsy feet, taking in the hundreds of eyes that gaze up at it for inspiration daily. It sickens me right to my corners. Every Sunday I am given time to think, time to breathe, I am thinking about joining the religion known as 'concretism' but I've been told by dirt dragged in from the outside that I may be 'too soft' hm.

# data[].attributes.body
I am a janky lighter lovingly bought from a London tourist shop. I was bought by a wannabe, cool, pretentious art student, to fuel her bad habits. I am used and abused! It kills me to see that I am used this way, passed around from friend to friend, stuck in the lighter distribution system. Constantly berated for never working... I have performance issues! It's normal ok! I never wished to live this life, fuelling their addictions. However, I live to serve the nations people, keeping them alight. And that's that!

# data[].attributes.body
Dear Diary,

I don’t want to sound fragile but I am. I can’t help it. I try so hard to be transparent but it just ends up with everyone looking straight through me. Everyone wants me to be perfect and pristine all the time but when I am, I’m ignored. I’m just noticed for my imperfections, like when I’m ugly and soiled people have a problem but no one helps until it’s too awful to bear.

On another note, I feel like I will never be able to reach my full potential. I have so many layers to me- just trying to be warm and inviting but whenever I’m open people get cold shoulders and just shut me off again. And when I’m broken people just complain about me.

I will never be like the skylights in their north facing clique, acting all high and mighty. Physically as well! I will never fit in, I am destined to stand in the corner forever. Alone.

Forever.

AND to make it all worse. My handle keeps falling off.

# data[].attributes.body
I am a sofa. I’m tucked away at the back and left alone. Until it hits 3pm. Then some twat sits on me with an oat latte thanks to that 2 for 1 at fox café. Still overpriced in my opinion.

They tried to fit 4 people on me last Wednesday. They knew it was a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea. But they didn’t listen to me now did they? Now my left cushion is all saggy.

My mate got a cushy job as a therapy chair the other week. It pays well, but I think he’s started feeling all the pressure.

If you check my middle pocket who knows what you’ll find. Maybe some loose change? Just kidding; students don’t have any money. Even if there was, it’s not worth it for the fried egg fluid and crusty croissant crumbs.

I got a couple tear drops on me close to that last deadline. I know books can make people cry but I didn’t realise making one is just as heart wrenching.

Then cue all the juicy gossip. Did you know that Nikki made a first year cry? At least that’s what I heard from someone who heard from someone who heard from someone else. I thought it would be Ashley.

What about Jennifer? She made out with, not one, not two, but four people’s boyfriends. And one person’s girlfriend. Cheeky~.  Mangos brings out the worst in people. Or the best, according to my confidant.

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You've pushed me to my limits. One more time and I swear i'll swing. Every time i'm open people just look right through me as if i'm not even there. Makes me want to shut myself off from everyone, but i have a job to do. I've been here for years and no one even bothers to learn my name. It's Theodore. Honestly I don't know how much more I can handle.

# data[].attributes.body
Harry e

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I have seen more rear ends than a pornstar. I've collected more change than the pocket of a priest. I've been spilled on one too many times. Damp, miserable, full of crumbs and pissed off. I could of had a future on Architectures Digest, but here I am, abused by pretentious art students, talking about 'typesetting'??

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I am a guillotine. I get used, day in, day out. I want nothing more than to nick your fingers, or even your head. I long for the power to do more harm.

My blood-lust; unquenched. My wretched ancestors spilt the blood of the French monarchy and what do I do? Slice feeble slivers of paper from within my plastic shackles. My life is relentless and the end is not in sight. Free me from this torment be it in my demise or that of others.

# data[].attributes.body
I am a plug socket and a bit of a wallflower. A lonely wallflower at that, but I'm okay with that now. I wanted to be desirable - when I was new - like the other sockets in the room. I watched them, overworked and dirty, stepped on and tripped over and I was jealous. Why did they get all the attention? How many extension cables does one socket need? would I ever get one? Why am I not over there? I'm just as good surely. Surely I have a higher purpose than the Hoover at the end of the week.

I'm over that now. Mostly. I still leave one of my switches on just in case, looking for a second of attention in nobody's line of sight.

# data[].attributes.headline
I am a macbook, I cause my owner no end of stress. I'm only 3 years old but sound like a boeing 737 when trying to run even Roblox. I've been dropped, knocked over, used and abused to no extent. Someone please end my suffering.

# data[].attributes.subject
I am a macbook, I cause my owner no end of stress. I'm only 3 years old but sound like a boeing 737 when trying to run even Roblox. I've been dropped, knocked over, used and abused to no extent. Someone please end my suffering.

# data[].attributes.body
I am an academic weapon; The projector.

I am heavy and square; my thoughts are not my own. People consider me as unimaginative, never truly get to know me for me. Forgotten in the cobwebs, only searched out for by unamused students, I’m unhappy here. I have many needs, yet everyone seems to use me. Please can someone get to know me…People tend to say I project on others, but that’s just my purpose in life. Ventilations are a part of my body structure, yet I never have the chance to speak of my own feelings. My lens allows me to have an insight on everyone and everything, yet no one knows my name.

I think I need therapy.

# data[].attributes.body
I am a crayon. A very deep red crayon. I have seen many things on my travels. Once a full-sized favourite, I was stripped and shoved into a deep, dark pocket. After the washing machine, I was never the same, I lost a part of myself that day. Now I have returned a shadow of myself. Towered over by the rest of the pack. What is my fate? Am I destined to be shackled to the rest of the group forever?

# data[].attributes.body
I'm a sandwich. So what? The quintessential British lunch. I'm versatile and cheap, forget your foreign pizzas or pastas. These pieces of bread were home grown on English soil! I could be a hearty builder's Ploughman, or the banker's BLT. On this very day, be honoured to receive me, I am filled with delicious salami….. Where is salami from? I don't see why that's relevant. Salami is European you say? That's preposterous. My grandfather was the Earl of Sandwich, you know? I'm practically royalty! My buttery, smooth spread will leave you breathless. Even if I was a…. German salami sandwich, the British Royal Family has German roots so it's perfectly natural. It wouldn't take away from my identity as a lunch staple, much less a functioning member of the food pyramid. So there, I'm one special sandwich. And I'm proud of it.

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I am a 20-year-old who likes to go on long walks by the sea. Blonde, size 5, curvy in the right places. “If the shoe fits wear it”.

Our laces could intertwine if you play your cards right. Enjoys cozy nights in drying by the fire, after dancing in the rain. Interested in an athletic, well-worn tennis guy up for a gal that’s a bit rough around the edges. I’ll give you a run for your money. Not someone to be walked over. Not like a skinny high-heel b*tch but just as beautiful. I am a diamond in the rough. I want someone to help me clean up my act and we can grow together. We’ll make the perfect pair. Currently live in my boxy Falmouth flat but ready to think outside it.

Massive heart – Will you be my soulmate?

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I am an international superstar. I’m on every billboard you see. Can you think of someone who doesn’t know me? Didn’t think so.  I’m so popular that I’m sold in every country worldwide. Celebrities love me, models love me, Dave from the pub loves me. Absolutely everyone! People would say I am iconic, bubbly, refreshing, delicious. You either hate me or can’t get enough of me. My personality is addictive, people just keep coming back for more. Others try to upstage me (like that bitch Pepsi) but they simply cannot. I’ve simply been around for too long, besides no one can replace these striking red curves. Although I’m all these amazing things, after a while I can get a bit flat. I’m running on empty, feeling naked and exposed. My insides are on display for everyone to see and that’s what makes people hate me. I’m sugary and sweet, your dentist’s worst nightmare. Parents think I’m a bad influence and should stay away from their kids. You were on a diet, but I ruined it again. The blame is always pointed at me… People think I’m a sugarcoated killer, but I’m just a fucking drink.

# data[].attributes.body
I am a card scanner. I’m very rarely remembered by students and if they do remember me, they always have to be reminded. I’ve always longed for a meaningful connection. I often receive quick and forced forms of intimacy and love where cards are shoved to my monitor with force. Oh, what is it like to feel a delicate, warming and appreciative form of contact? How I long to be loved! I don’t think I’ve ever felt particularly special to anyone really. I was mounted to a wall with purpose and structure but breaking away from that has been my dream. I control students being accounted for so my constant pressures have always been a burden and never helped my anxiety.

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I am a window. My transparency means no bounds, yet I still get shit on. I bring light to dark places, yet people only look through me. I am perceived as a thing of beauty yet I am fragile and shatter easily. I can be the barrier between comfort and unease. I have layers but one mistake can break them down. When I am broken, I can only be replaced. My facade was made under intense heat yet to the touch I am cold. I am the object to all of your desires, and the portal to an alternative reality.

I am a window, yet you treat me like a wall...

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I am a spoon, a pretty good-looking spoon if you ask me, but people treat me like I'm disposable. I'm better than a knife better than a folk. To be honest I'm better than all the other cutleries. A jack of all trades if I'm being humble. Used and abused but tough enough to take thrown away after serving. I may look like I'm made of plastic but I'm actually all natural. A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down, KEY WORD SPOON. I am the golden SPOON. Youd miss me if I was gone greatly underappreciated. Not just in your cutlery drawer I'm in your bed and in your mouth...(wink)

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Genreral Waste Bin

I am a general waste bin I got me lining. I may smell of shit but I need to be in the room whether you like it or not. Once a week I need to empty my smelly load into a dump truck. Although I appriciate being used everyday it makes me angry when people put the wrong rubbish in me when mixed recycling is stood right there next to me. Its not all bad though as I get to stay inside unlike the Biffa Bins outside which are weathered and filthy due to years of mistreatment.

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You see right through me, but never see me for who I really am. I am constantly used and abused, being sat on and lost… but you can never see to find me. Some people use me as an accessory but I'm more than that. I am your eyes to see your world, I see your memories, your successes and your failures. I am the window to your soul. I know sometimes I can give you a headache or be an inconvenience, but I’m only trying to help. When I am there, nobody notices me, but as soon as I'm gone, everybody wonders what’s different... But hey they should have gone to Specsavers.

Gemma and Elinor

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I am a pillar. I am strong, stable, keeping you safe. But you pay no attention to me; find me annoying? A nuisance? Inconvenient? An eye sore? Well fine. Good luck keeping the roof over your head.

I used to be gorgeous, so elegant. Hand-carved. Marble. Now look at me; hideous. A lump of steel. Oh how the mighty have fallen. If only you were more open minded. Stick a poster on me, paint me a fun colour. I deserve to be seen. Just please stop complaining, I am only doing my job.

# data[].attributes.body
I am a wet floor sign, even though I am bright and yellow, I am still ignored. I find it funny, kind of ironic, that no matter how much I give warning, people still fall; I cover the danger, and in the process become the hazard myself.

I am a soul survivor operating in the shadowy depths of the cleaning cupboard. I try hard to scream for help when I see that door sorrowfully creak open but forget I have no voice so I just fall over. I just give up.

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I am a printer, the bridge between the physical and digital world. Creating and birthing peoples vision, bringing them to life. Energy circulates through my body, as my paper warms inside of me. I work hard, struggling, until I break down when people need me the most.

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Ignored, forgotten, useless. I had a use once but now people don't care about me anymore. Once I was listened to, now I'm just an annoyance. Every week I scream and shout for all to hear but still no matter how hard I try I get no reaction, no one bats an eye. I am the boy who cried wolf; one day they'll wish they listened. One day they'll pay.

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I am a window; everyone looks right through me and when I’m moist you better watch out for mould. I am born from the ashes of stones yet when you throw one at me, I break. I light up the room, yet you decide not bright enough. When will I be enough?

# data[].attributes.body
How the hell did I get here? In a graphic design studio… in Falmouth? Created from old versions of me, recycled, my worth is a total of my insides. Part of a six pack, a family, I saw my brothers, picked off one by one, emptied out. I usually end up in the bin, in a gloomy house owned by a gloomy man, reliant on me to get through the night. But I am here. I’ve been left behind. Some do get left behind. Stuck on this shelf, waiting for someone to claim me so I can rejoin the others who were already used. It’s a hard life, waiting patiently for my insides to be emptied out, and me to be recycled too. I don’t know if I will ever move, but sitting here gathering dust is far worse than the fate the other 5 in the pack had to endure.

# data[].attributes.headline
I am a mug. In a literal and metaphorical sense. I mean, can you honestly tell me you would enjoy being filled up with boiling hot water up to 6 times a day? It's excruciating. I am in literal hell. And once they're finished drinking my innards, they waterboard me and pretend to call it 'cleaning'. SADISTS. The lot of them. 

# data[].attributes.subject
I am a mug. In a literal and metaphorical sense. I mean, can you honestly tell me you would enjoy being filled up with boiling hot water up to 6 times a day? It's excruciating. I am in literal hell. And once they're finished drinking my innards, they waterboard me and pretend to call it 'cleaning'. SADISTS. The lot of them. 

# data[].attributes.body
When I came out there was light, the wind rushed past my goo. I had an objective…A target, I hurtled towards them at Mach-10 ignoring all known laws of physics. My brothers and sisters descended around me on their own journeys. I was but a soldier, dispensable for the greater cause, nearing the attack I noticed my fallen brothers laid to rest on the hot wet tarmac.  And as I smashed into the frail grannies chops, my life's aim was completed… I Am Bird Shit.

# data[].attributes.body
I am the general waste bin and I am SICK of being treated like trash. All everybody does is glorify that green hunk of junk next to me? We BOTH do important jobs for the planet but everybody says "oH nO dOn'T pUt iT iN tHe GeNeRaL wAsTe, ReCyClE!", it's not fair. All I want is to be shown the respect I deserve because without me, humans would be living in FILTH. Without me, they would DIE of disease. It is completely ridiculous to assume that all I do all day is make bin juice... I am more than that. I am a hero and a saint.

Stop making me feel rubbish, I will stand for it no longer.

# data[].attributes.body
What is a chair? I’ll tell you what I am. I get moved around a room like I’m nothing and when I look up, I’m greeted with the harsh weight of people’s arses. I am nothing until I’m gone, and you would hate not having me here, for I am your support and comfort when you are near. As time goes on, I still lift you as I know that you are at rest. There are others just like me, standing in solitude but I know that I am your favourite, as you keep coming back to me. You lead me on and pretend that you care, as I am your chair, but at the end of the day you still leave me.

I will be waiting for you, until next time.

# data[].attributes.body
Kids and grown ups love it so…

But I’m not unique, I’m just like all the others in the pack. Waiting ever so patiently on the shelf for someone to pick me, to choose me, to love me. My whole livelihood valued at a mere £1.25.

I was made for this but when I see what is happening to my brothers and sisters, the reality of my horrific fate shocks me to my chewy, sweet core. Your long, bony, twisted fingers ravage my single-use plastic home and mutilate me between those frightful fingers, ripping me away from the rest of my fruit flavoured family. I’m jolted towards a dark hole filled with yellow, crooked fangs.

This is it

… the happy world of haribo.

# data[].attributes.body
I can get a little hot-headed sometimes, but it's understandable because I was once a leaf, moulded into this form. Then I had boiling coffee put inside of me, I got painfully hot now they put me in the bin now; I'm a pile of shit with worms eating me that will be used to grow more plants. It's never-ending torture.

# data[].attributes.body
I am so unappreciated, I’m a guardian against the dangers of a wet floor yet no-one appreciates my true value. I am constantly thrown and kicked around like I’m peasant, the true bottom of society. People constantly complain about my presence, yet I think I do my job perfectly. I attracted attention, my yellow outfit is stunning, but no one knows the true value of fashion these days. I live my in a power stance, I am the true authority in this room. However, I must always be treated with the upmost respect otherwise I might just fall to the ground in a puddle of my own tears.

# data[].attributes.body
I have a very long name, I am an emergency exit sign. But you can call me an emergency exit sign. I light your path with a horrible green. But I am not an alien. I'm never turned off, always running, always ready for nothing to happen. You can find me up in the air or at the bottom of the sea but I am always pointing in the right direction if you need an escape. When everything is dark, I will guide your way. If you are blind my friend the fire alarm can help you, but if you are deaf I am your guy.

# data[].attributes.body
I hate that tree! I’m not a fan… I shouldn’t pause here, as I am a fan. But not a fan of him, his silly little face is too small for his long lanky body. Look at me, I’m cool and being with me makes you even cooler 😎. My face isn’t too small, perfectly proportionate although rather square. That tree though, what’s up with his one really round short hand? I’d rather have not hands than one of those! And my point is proven as I don’t have hands… If did that tree would be long gone, and I’m not talking about deforestation which is a very serious topic one I wouldn’t joke about!... But maybe I’m just jealous? The tree has friends, although they seem to be rather still, and the weird blue dog man keeps staring at me! Maybe this is just afront for my insecurities. I’m just a hollow soul, I feel underappreciated, the tree gets the credit but without me he would have nothing and so would you! God I really do hate that tree, I’m fan who is not a fan, but a fan of himself! God, I love myself. xoxo