stuck in the dark, you ruminate over what went wrong.
did you give too much in too little time?
did you show your soul too soon, too full?
stop. you will never know his being, his concealment.
his omission. grieve if you must. but it is his loss.
you are still full, still sweet, still in control
of the cake, the knife, your heart.
listen to your heart. allow the serpent to wrap itself around you.
there’s danger yes, risk. but also joy and pleasure to have.
let go, don’t hold on to tight. let the apples fall where they fall.
just savour the h=juicy connection, the meeting of bodies and mind.
be your full self. it is them who cannot not handle your full heart.
the rot is theirs not yours.
i enter the arena on my own terms
looking for what, i do not know
but I’m open and caring, wise and full
the reveal i did not see coming, the betray
harsh and bitter like garlic, it was his insecurities
still i’m the one pinned to the board
like a specimen, like a freak, like a crushed butterfly
Bobbing heads with stars
shaped top tufts, like dreadlocked youths
burst with potential
Cherry, I love you
The fruit, the word off tongue
feeds childlike glee
A burst of yellow
related to the sunflower
a joy of its own
an early walk
no one else around for now
welcome the moment
“13 Dead, Nothing Said”, the rallying cry rings out.
walking with dignity, arm in arm, a protest, not a riot nor a mob.
a powerful display of unity and resistance. “13 Dead, Nothing Said”,
in the face of adversity. of racism, police conduct, and social justice,
the New Cross Massacre Action Committee respond.
treating black victims as criminals themselves, “13 Dead, Nothing Said”.
on 18 January 1981, Yvonne Ruddock celebrated her 16th birthday with friends,
when a fire tore through 439 New Cross Road in south-east London.
“13 Dead, Nothing Said”.
community solidarity, in the midst of racial tensions and police mishandling,
they marched, 20.000 strong, from the scene of the fire
to the Houses of Parliament to present a petition. “13 Dead, Nothing Said”.
the loss of young black lives barely noted by the media,
no words of condolence from maggie, and to this day, no one
has ever been charged with starting the fire. “13 Dead, Nothing Said”.
At the same time as trying to break free, create and embody a life of my own making, on my own terms, I’m still embroiled within this insidious society called white supremacy culture/ racial capitalism.
At the same time as trying to get free, and so spend my time doing what I want to do rather than what I’m expected/supposed to do/be, I waste energy in pulling away which I’d rather spend in pushing forward, pushing on.
At the same time as trying to be free, breathing deeply, resting and dreaming of other possibilities, I’m still meshed into the lives of other people, who are not interested is taking flight or even dropping the protective cloak of scoring victim.
At the same time as I take flight into the unknown, I realise my resolve and reserves have been depleted in the fight, in the pleasing of others, in trying to fit in, in trying to be loved on my own terms.
At the same time as trying to save myself, I know now that I have to let go of my hold of you. The hold on what could have been instead of what is that is crying through my bones and blood’s knowing.
Living Wild Studios 