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”.
In March the United Nations issued a report about Israel’s systematic use of sexual, reproductive and other forms of gender-based violence against Palestinian women since October 2023.
Those who shout long and hard about #womensrights have said fuck all about this abuse.
Perpetuating a system of oppression through gender-based violence and undermining self-determination is not coincidental.
But those who profess to be standing up for #womensrights say nothing.
Sexual and gender-based violence perpetuated across the Occupied Palestinian Territory is a strategy of war by Israel to demoralise and destroy Palestinians.
Those who shout long and hard about #womensrights have said fuck all about this abuse.
Israeli forces have destroyed sexual and reproductive healthcare facilities across Gaza. Medical support and equipment for safe pregnancies, postnatal care and neonatal care are decimated.
But those who profess to be standing up for #womensrights say nothing.
Women’s and girl’s reproductive right and autonomy as well as their right to life, health and dignity have been erased.
And yet these people, mostly white women, such as JK Rowling, who harp on about #womensrights and the so called threats posed by transgender people, say nothing about the Palestinian women and girls who are subjected to violence right now.
The deliberate starvation by Israel of Palestinian people has a devastating effect on pregnant women resulting in anaemia, malnutrition, miscarriages, stillbirths and undernourished newborns as lactating women cannot produce enough milk.
And yet these people here for #womensrights say nothing.
It would seem that those who claim to be champions of #womenrights pick and choose who has rights as women, fuck it, as human beings.
What are you most worried about for the future?
the undercurrent has always been present, simmering like lava just below the surface ready to rise up at weak points, at moment of disarray and hopelessness. hate shimmers like jewels to those who have little but promised more. clinging to the sharp edges of hate because it’s something to feel, to use as a weapon against others instead of the self. hate with fear, a lethal concoction corroding within as well as without.
1936. October. With a chill in the air, the blackshirts ruffled through the East End of London, snaking their territory, their Ayran rights. With Police fronting, they still couldn’t take the streets. Jews, Irish, Communists, Blacks, Labour activists, workers unite. Stand firm. Shoulder to shoulder, they shall not pass. Blackshirts, angry scrunched up faces, hearts riddled with hate and fear, shall not pass.
Write about your first crush.
[history]*
when archie rowe asked me out in middle school, he wanted us to keep our courtship a secret. we met behind the garages, through the school yard. he kissed me & played with my tits. [did i just use the word tits? there i’ve done it again] tits. i was well developed for me age. full blown blossomed boobies. boys will be boys. behind the garages, sprigs of pussy willow wept. shhh it’s his secret. too ashamed to be seen with a Blackgirlwoman.
*taken from a longer piece called, ‘Playing Palimpsest’, which appears in my full collection Darkling.
Living Wild Studios 