Leaving WordPress – (but you are coming with me)

Please follow me at www.thefeatheredsleep.com I am still showing up in WP Reader and can read your work too. After numerous appeals to WordPress I did not get my ability to follow other WP authors reinstated. It was horribly unfair and ties my hands on WP, as part of my job is discovering and publishing talent. I’m disappointed, but I want to move on positively. In order to do this, I have decided to leave WordPress rather than condoning them.

One of my best friends built me a site. I have WordPress Reader and all those whom I follow (before I was banned from following any more) and all those who follow me (and you can continue to) will be exported with me so I can continue to read you. www.thefeatheredsleep.com

If you are not following me, you still can. When you go to my new page it gives you a way to follow me by email (Subscribe to Blog via Email on the right-hand-side of the page). If you subscribe, I will show up in your WP-Reader. www.thefeatheredsleep.com

My best friends online (although I’ve met many in real life by now) were found on WordPress. The caliber of people on WP is outstanding. I literally have met people I adore. If not for Mark, Philip, Tremaine and Susi, I might never have survived the worst of my illness and those people and others, are life-long friends.

Recently, we had a big loss in the WP community when Sue Vincent died, she was widely respected and I respected her deeply as a colleague. Her bright spirit infused everyone. Her life has touched myself and others deeply in many ways. It was actually the non creative writing that touched me the most. The her in herself. The woman she was. The process of her life.

A few years ago, we lost Paul, and many of us still remember him and think of his face. I have a photo of him that comes up in my memories often, and I never deleted his last message to me. He was one of my first friends on WP aside Eric, Rita, Tony, Pelgris, and Monique and we all knew him and cared about him. His death was tragic and senseless. Monique and I talk of him every time we talk. He walks with us.

When Natalie Scarberry passed, it was gut-wrenching. She had fought so many battles in life, and was such a rare human being because despite being in her 70’s she still had TIME for people, she still could talk about ‘a bad day‘ or empathize with others, and often life beats that out of you, but it didn’t with her. Despite having difficulties with her own mom, she was a surrogate mom to many of us. I keep her photo in my room and I think of her a lot. She will always be with me. Not in the pithy sense, but the truest sense.

Even when sick, Natalie was encouraging and loving. She wrote this on one of my posts;

“You know how a pin ball machine hits all those things that make noise; when you write like this one that is so honest and raw it feels like a pin ball is hitting everything that has ever hurt me or touched me deeply and I have to wonder how that can be. And I feel sure others who read your words are impacted in the same way. You have an incredible way of understanding all the sham of life and the betrayals, we as flawed and broken humans, are subject to. Reading this was heartbreaking and at the same time spelling binding in its profound insights of existence in a fallen and flawed world.“

We should never forget the value of true support and selflessness.

With each person lost, I have felt such emotions that have taught me more value and a greater understanding of the most enduring things in life. I have literally grown in my heart and soul because of knowing these people and being briefly connected to them. I shall never, ever forget them.

I am so proud of every single one of you who has been in an Indie Blu(e) anthology and as our company gets larger and more successful, we hope to have more breadth to share the works of such talented writers and artists – whom we have mostly met via WP. What a sad story then that WP would ban me from following new talent, because of an algorithm? That said, I am determined to continue to support those talents in whatever way I can and balance my day job alongside my Indie Blu(e) work, because it has literally been one of the most meaningful things I have done in years.

Thank you all. I hope you come with me when I go. Because I have learned, in going, you never really leave.

RIP Natalie, Paul, Sue & all our WP friends who have passed, but stay firmly in our hearts. We see you. We love you.

Please consider following me if you don’t already, at www.thefeatheredsleep.com

Also thanks to: Tara, Christine, Derrick & Jaqui Knight,, Jane, Erik, Mark & Chris Renney, Merril, Cordelia, Holly, Monique, Dorlinda, Bob, Aakriti, Sarah Doughty, Devika, Little Charmer, TGFJ, Philip, Helene, Mr Militant Negro, SonofaBeach, Basil, Raili, Crow, Megha, Laurie, Sunshine Jensen, AND SunJesper, Kindra, LIB, Nicolas, SuddenDenouement, Nicole Lyons, Dev, HastyWords, Black Duck, Cyranny Skye/, HMS, Henna, Braeden, Carol, JaneB, RobT, Anya,
Contoveros, Charlie, Nathalie, Sabrina, Em, Richard, Jaya, SNTC, Bjorn, Sue, John, Audrey, Rpoetry, Wallace, NFW, Chris, Peter, Teti, Mani, Amitav, My Jewish Sister, Lunar, slpmartin, OP, SHL, Lamar, SFD, ELR, Tanya, Forrest, Sol, Sheldon, JAGL, Keith, KMF, NFW, MSP, TCFC, GhostWriter, Janet Wright, Vidur, Joseph, Jacqui, Ashley, TRP, Andrew, TBP, Ken, Dawn, YOU, Betty Albright, Ivor, Ogden, TBFO, Penny, EOB2, Smita, Willow, Petru, Earthwalking, David, HLR, Perditus, EFTDN, Poet Pas, Jude, H&R, Carol, Eric, Jonathan, Krissy, EDCW, Ali, robertgoldstein, Merbear, Jasper, Annette, Meg, SliceTheLife, CODS, GC, Vic CigarMan, Bethany, Maureen, Emma, Ameena, BCB, Maria, S&B, Morgan, Kim, Eugenia, Day, ChrisR, Usha, Melissa, mylifeandme, anitabacha.com, Samyra, saynotoclowns, Spiritkeeper, Jade, TTT, PFTP, TH, EOL, SageFemme, Amir, and everyone else.

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Beneath its rebuke we claim our sex

I am disappointed when
My thighs resemble dough

From lassitude or the dreaming void

I know not

While others jog I find ways to hide, and years bring encroachment
I am disappointed when stretchmarks form and breasts once firm and fine, fall
As if the hour, prescriptive written, perforation, was

all along a trembling, inken fate

Only in your arms
away from dull gaze of waxen youth

yet to taste harsh glare of life
Still blunt in their unlidded perfection

Was I ever so?

Only in you, I find solace to unburden these stored shames
Bidden me by my role as woman
The unkind hand, who beckons us close to fire
That we may touch a moment of glory

Then slow descent to nowhere visible

In my head of aches, I hear the cacophony of iteration

Women over a certain age
Sexless, sagging beasts of burden

We laugh over my fears
Our respective flaws, rubbing each other
Tenderizing that, which believed itself perished
And was alive
Beneath its rebuke

And when you bring me out of my shell
To kneel to the sun god, without need for apology
I see not those things

Or the artificial glide of time

But feel
Feel your fingers

Deep in my belly

Sense your mouth
Folding bliss in her eternal recline
Taste the syrup of us, in the temple
Then
I am disappointed no more
A fire bird loose in my body
Such pleasures, no child can find
We lift together, in our mutual ecstasy
Emboldened by the dream to be free of chains

Two of us
Released from the grip of words
Threshing at the gate, with the symphony of a female’s sex
Greater than anything that can be crushed
Our fever, mighty in her conquer
We cry as one, our voice raw with awakening
For to be pleasure, is to know
The Gods

No you do not own this moment
Bashful world

For we have transcended the hand of man
We
Who are
Woman
Claim
Our

Sex

Core Values — Published at Borderless Journal

A discussion by Candice Louisa Daquin based on reading Candace Owens’ book Blackout: How Black America Can Make Its Second Escape from the Democrat Plantation According to the author, Candace Owens: Hilaría Baldwin is NOT Spanish.Rachel Dolezal will NEVER be black.A biological man is NOT a woman.A biological female will never be a man. These people […]

Core Values — Borderless

Please note I am writing objectively without wishing to be ‘for’ one side or the other. It’s too easy to write those kinds of pieces. I’m tired of journalism being a pulpit for opinions. Objective rationality is possible with less judgement. It doesn’t mean you support someone if you consider what they’ve written. It means you have your eyes open. I appreciate Borderless Journal for being a place that accepts true critical thinking.

Tu me fais mal avec ta beauté

Not written down in history

The lonely heart

of a girl

who liked her own

kind

is not written down in history

there are few

stories of this

quiet, often eclipsed, furtive, secret

kind of longing

less even spoke aloud or transcribed

for what could be said? Admitted?

Instead, there are, no doubt

trees growing exceptionally redolent

nourished with the grieving, private hearts

of girls throughout history

who buried their flesh

beneath tender roots of a sapling

when it became abundantly clear

their tongues served them no purpose

in speaking of a love

no-one wanted.

These girls … I wonder

about them, sometimes as I tramp

red cheeked and furious

up hill side, when sitting still and

desiring felt like cold bars of a jail cell

seeing above me the wielding kite and her

long expanse, mocking almost with her freedom

for fierce she is, unable to

be anything but predator

time lapses into a series of vignettes

childhood (unknowing/confused) adolescence (odd/ill-fitting)

youth (empty bed/scolded faces of young men who do not understand

why no matter what they do, they endear

not)

older (disappointment/scrolled dating sites, dark bars with groping

strangers, you wouldn’t share a car ride with)

a wish always

for the girl over the moors

her long black hair tumbling like a question mark

the iridescence of her eyes, startling, bold

quit of falseness, a truth enveloping us both

without need of pretense, shyness left in fog

to hold the hand of someone who understands

and wishes to pull you through

where magic still resides in ellipsis and mist.

They do not invite single women of a certain age

to celebrate. When everyone would feel

uneasy, no children to talk about

flourishing career to brag of, she is not anything more than

everything to one person, outside that

sphere, she feels lost, disjointed, unable to fit closely

the pieces of irregularity, between her own wishes

and that of everyone else. They stare at her

over coffee cups, watching as if she were

a different species, something odd and inexplicable

cut at irregular angles, spilling out of bondage

saffron infused thoughts, plastered to her wet head

like a seal exploring depths, her stockings uneven

ragged with snares, mimicking internal

conflict, why she couldn’t pose for the camera

lips pursed in obliging, skirt wrinkle free,

hands hidden beneath cardigan, their

eternal fidget repressed with the incalculable

strength of effort it takes women to remind silent

say nothing, speak not with their roaming eyes

the magnificence of their private entreaty.

Oh to reveal, peal off layers, ransack propriety

and launch, full mast, happy crew, into the ocean

where loving was loving anyone, invited equally

to christenings, thanksgiving, birthday’s

not whispered about; behind fans, fingers, computer

screens, the lascivious imagination of mild mannered

disgust, spread liberally on morning toast.

“What do they DO?” (behind closed doors)

“was she like THAT with you?” (you should be so lucky)

“are they man-haters?” (only if you join in the cacophony)

“her mother must be so disappointed” (eternally).

I’m not disappointed

with you, us, swimming upstream, lily pads, green light

breaking up mosaic thought

bring it on

bring it on

we urge in our confident hour, no longer strange in shadow

by fire, by tokens in dark, wagging their tongues

and then, weary, tired of the fight, we stop

holding hands in public, the glare, a sunburn on

our fragile necks we stay modest, interior

house plants straining for sufficient light

when they don’t invite us, when I remain

alone waiting for you, weeks upon weeks

when stigma is a brand without physical body

it stings as deep, stays as long, heals too slow

it is hard to imagine the words ‘equality’

leaving our lips, and joining the world

in red shoes and jaunty hat, tipped merrily

to the left-hand side, running for a bus

knowing you’ll just make it

if the ground isn’t slippery

if you don’t fall before you’ve got

a firm hold.

As The World Burns – Out Now!

Indie Blu(e) Publishing are very proud to announce the publication of As The World Burns. Our third socially-aware anthology. As The World Burns is available via all good book stores in Kindle and softback NOW. It is an incredible collection of writers, many of whom are from WordPress and are in our writing groups, writing some of our favorite work. We hope you will support them and our efforts to spread awareness of socially vital subjects. If you have felt frustrated with politics, Covid-19, Black Lives Matter, Homophobia or any of the things happening ‘as the world burns’ this is the collection for you.

We dedicate this anthology to those who have bravely fought the  encroaching darkness in 2020 with their writing and their art,  and who insist that racism, sexism, homophobia, and war are  not inevitable, or acceptable, facets of the human condition.  As The World Burns is a story of survival and an act of  resistance. We speak with many voices, to the damage  wrought in these violent, fevered months. Let us never forget or  turn away, from what is just, what is necessary, to keep light  alive in this world. 

If you are a fan of any of the following authors and artists please consider reading this incredible collection & if you see your name here, link me with your page or LMK and I will hyperlink it. Where I have not found your name on WordPress I have linked to work of yours on WordPress or to your website:

Susi Bocks (poet, SMITTEN), dani bowes (poet SMITTEN), Annette Kalandros (poet WordPress/Facebook/We Will Not Be Silenced), F I Goldhaber (poet We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress), Kai Coggin (poet SMITTEN/Internationally recognized poet), Dawn McKenzie (poet We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress/Facebook), Sean McGraw (poet SMITTEN), Rachel Kobin (poet/writer We Will Not Be Silenced), Melita White (poet WordPress), John Leys (poet WordPress), A. Lawler (poet SMITTEN), Irma Do (poet SMITTEN), Kendall Krantz (poet SMITTEN/Actor), Jamie L. Smith (poet SMITTEN), Jimmi Campkin (WordPress/Photographer), Robert Okaji (WordPress/Internationally recognized poet), Maria Gianna Iannucci (poet WordPress), Marisela Brazfield (poet), Aakriti Kuntal (poet WordPress/We Will Not Be Silenced/The Kali Project), Milly Webster (poet SMITTEN), Dierdre Fagan (poet SMITTEN/We Will Not Be Silenced/), Ali Grimshaw (poet We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress), Dr. Sneha Rooh (poet SMITTEN/WordPress), Marcia Weber (poet, We Will Not Be Silenced), Sarah Ito (poet SMITTEN), Henri Bensussen (poet SMITTEN), Sarah Bigham (poet/writer We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress), Charu Sharma (poet We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress), Karissa Whitson (poet SMITTEN), Lindz McLeod (poet SMITTEN), Rachel Finch (poet/writer SMITTEN/We Will Not Be Silenced/Editor Indie Blu(e)), Crystal Kinistino (poet/feminist activist WordPress/SMITTEN/We Will Not Be Silenced/Medium), Dani Bowes (poet SMITTEN), Jaya Avendel (WordPress/We Will Not Be Silenced/The Kali Project), Erik Klingenberg (poet WordPress), Liz DeGregorio (poet SMITTEN), Sammie Payne (photographer/poet/Facebook/Instagram), L Stevens (poet), Jennifer Carr (poet SMITTEN), Matt Eayre (poet WordPress poet/writer/author), Rachel Roth (poet SMITTEN), Tony Single (WordPress/illustrator/graphic novelist/poet), A Shea (poet WordPress, SMITTEN, Facebook/Instagram), Rachel Tijou (poet We Will Not Be Silenced/Photographer), Emje Mccarty (artist/illustrator/poet/WordPress), Lola White (WordPress poet), Sally Zakariya (SMITTEN poet), Carol Jewell (SMITTEN poet), HOKIS (poet/philosopher SMITTEN/WordPress), Patricia Q Bidar (SMITTEN), Sun Hesper Jansen (poet/philisopher/MS campaigner WordPress) Erin Van Vuren (SMITTEN poet/internationally recognized poet on Instagram), Tremaine Loadholt (Medium/SMITTEN/WordPress writer & editor), Marcia Weber (poet/WordPress), Carrie Weis (artist/poet WordPress/We Will Not Be Silenced), Marvlyn Vincent (poet SMITTEN/WordPress), Sarah Ito (SMITTEN poet), Teresa Chappell (SMITTEN poet), Tia Hudson (SMITTEN poet), Aviva Lilith (SMITTEN poet), Anthony Glenn (writer/poet WordPress), Devereaux Frazier (writer/poet Facebook/Instagram/WordPress), Char Trolinder (writer/poet Facebook), Jesica Nodarse (poet SMITTEN/We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress), Eric Syrdal (writer/poet WordPress/We Will Not Be Silenced), Sarah Doughty (writer/poet WordPress/We Will Not Be Silenced), Eleanor Knight (Singer/Songwriter Facebook/Instagram), Ashley Jane (Poet, WordPress, SMITTEN, We Will Not Be Silenced, Instagram, Facebook), Ruth Bowley (poet, WordPress), Mela Bust (Poet, WordPress, Facebook, Instagram), John Leys (Poet, WordPress), Hoda Esta (Poet, SMITTEN), Nicholas Gagnier (Writer/Poet Instagram/We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress), John Cochrane (Writer/Poet WordPress), John Biscello (Writer/Poet WordPress), Jane Dougherty (Writer/Poet WordPress), DM Burton (Poet), Melissa Fadul (Writer/Poet WordPress/SMITTEN/We Will Not Be Silenced), Selene Crosier (Poet, SMITTEN), Tamara Madison (Writer/Poet WordPress), Irma Do (poet SMITTEN), Carla Toney (writer/poet SMITTEN), Philip Vernon (Writer/Philosopher WordPress), Linda Crate (poet SMITTEN), Sonja Beauchamp (poet SMITTEN), Elle Arra (writer/poet/WordPress), Merril Smith (Writer/Historian. SMITTEN Foreword/author of The Dictionary of Rape), Hanlie Robbertse (Poet Facebook/Instagram), Petru Vijoen (poet SMITTEN), Maria Gray (poet SMITTEN), Kristiana Reed (poet, WordPress/We Will Not Be Silenced & Editor of Free Verse Revolution), Velma Hamilton (poet SMITTEN), Katherine DeGilio (poet SMITTEN), Christine Ray (Co-Founder of Indie Blu(e) Publishing, Poet SMITTEN, We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress), Kindra Austin (Co-Founder of Indie Blu(e) Publishing, Poet SMITTEN, We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress), SA Quinox (poet SMITTEN/WordPress/We Will Not Be Silenced), Leslea Newman (foreword We Will Not Be Silenced/Internationally recognized poet), Amie Campbell (poet SMITTEN), Rob Plath (poet, WordPress), Jessica Jacobs (poet, Internationally recognized poet/SMITTEN), Megha Sood (poet, The Kali Project/SMITTEN), Nayana Nair (poet, WordPress/SMITTEN), Allie Nelson (poet, WordPress), Kim Harvey (Poet, SMITTEN), Cynthia Bryant (poet, SMITTEN), Nadia Garofolo (Musician/Poet), Rachael Ikins (poet/photographer, SMITTEN, We Will Not Be Silenced/WordPress), Devika Mathur (The Kali Project/WordPress poet), Destiny Killian (poet, SMITTEN), Andrew McDowell (poet, WordPress), Dustin Pickering (poet/writer WordPress).

Don’t go home tonight

Don’t go home tonight

don’t leave this warm circle we built with our skin and bones

I killed an ant earlier and I felt badly

as I had watched it climb up a book and grab on to a little morsel

it has always made me feel remorseful for killing even the smallest creature

I don’t eat flesh for that reason

aside, you, I eat you, feast upon, alive and laughing your deep throated mirth

it never occurred to me one day I would have in my arms

the vibrating surround of a whole woman

the majesty of her glory, how she shifts like light

from somber to ejubilent in the fracture of a moment

women are not easy creatures, to tame a little, or keep satisfied

their minds, their bodies, are compartments of mystery

open the same drawer twice, out comes a different response

I will never understand or fathom, your maze of contradictions

that may be half the pleasure, for we who are simple clay

love the complexity and madness that is your fire

your dimpled skin and reddened throat leaning backward to my entreaty

the sounds you make, when I bring you close

a high keening like joy is just out of focus, a mayfly touching surface

I hold those memories inside me like water

crossing the empty desert of a day without you

night comes and goes as fast as pleasure

resisting my petition to remain static and eternal

if it would just slow and stay, I’d render you speechless in slow movement

the stirring of cream into coffee, languorous and ancient in ritual

until you flung yourself back into enervated ocean

where together we met beneath water and the whole world

was lit from beneath us

my love, asseyez-vous à côté de moi. faire battre mon cœur

stay

stay with me tonight

let us both be lulled into believing

morning does not need to dawn

The night I went out without shoes on

Wasn’t it a miracle?

Neither of us died trying to get to the meeting place

all the lights in the world seemed out that night

I had only known how to drive a few months

you were an old hat who routinely broke laws

with bottles wedged between your legs, a

cigarette burning ash down your fingers

there had always been a desire in me

for brokenness, as if I recognized in those

souls, something in myself

or a freedom in people who abandoned ettiquette

and discarding it, became suddenly free

I liked the wild, I liked women with untamed eyes

and dirty minds

the moon was full that night and we watched owls

gather themselves in flight and swoop

cloudy restaurant lights flickering in and out on the side

of the empty high way

I had watched films about a life like this

I said to you, films like Gas Food Lodgings or Paris Texas

where the greatest landscape was the tarmac

and the wide abundant merciless sky

where people sheltered in shadow and night creatures

crawled unseen and women met by closed restaurants

the flicker of their 24 hour advertising, sizzling against blackness

you were strange looking as if you had

deliberately tried to destroy yourself and I

forgot to wear shoes, my feet hot against still baked

soil, biting fiends flying in humid air, thick with ‘unspoken

entreaties

I wanted you to slam me there and then against

the unresisting brake of my car

leaving a bruise the size of texas clouds

I wanted to break apart like rocks with gem stones

inside, find something in both of us

bigger than the sky, deeper than weary darkness

but I was too young then and fear wrapped herself

like a blanket of stars and pulled me back

into the world, into doing what is right, into being careful

and sitting up straight when you eat at the table

all these years later, I still think

if we had set the car on automatic and just ridden

away

down that empty highway, into hushed, blooming night

we might have found the part of us

still lacking

every day we wake up

wash our face, comb our hair

and look too long in the mirror

searching for the lost parts

of our dark dreams

National Indie Excellence Awards

If you purchased a copy of Indie Blu(e)’s SMITTEN and you want a gorgeous gold sticker to recognize that SMITTEN won Finalist position in the National Indie Excellence Awards, please PM Candice Louisa Daquin or email her at (indieblucollective@gmail.com) letting her know how many stickers you require and your physical address & she will send them out as soon as possible.

If you already sent your address, expect your sticker in the mail any day unless you live abroad, in which case probably 2 weeks time. If you can kindly take a photo of you with your new FANCY SMITTEN with her sticker – !!! That would be so appreciated! We want to keep the enthusiasm for this amazing, now award winning publication going!

*** If you have not yet purchased a copy of SMITTEN, consider buying a copy of this award winning beautiful Anthology of female poets talking about love between women, it’s available nationwide & internationally & all new copies automatically come with the award sticker on the front cover. A perfect gift. An ideal companion on your shelf. ***

 

Thank you to everyone who supported this successful & meaningful project. I hope to work with you again very soon. #supportindieauthors #supportpoetry #supportequality

 

Not quite natural enough

I would like to be

a bit more toward normal, ordinary, unnoticed

because when we hold hands

people stare

bubbles appear above their heads

they say without moving their mouths

she’s a lesbian?

what a shame.

a terrible loss

I bet her father sexually abused her

surely some man really mistreated her

don’t you remember how strange she was as a kid?

Do you think she watched me closely when we went swimming as teenagers? Gross!

I always thought she looked at me in a weird way. didn’t you?

I feel uncomfortable around her, (she’s not like us).

And so I do not

book double rooms in some hotels

for the stares of receptionists cleave my good intention into bitter twine

I do not cup your hand in mine on every street

sometimes I let go, when I see a certain type of glance

I see their flickering of disgust

read like braille, the unsaid words

Unnatural!

Filthy minded!

Disgusting waste of a female!

Around their pursed ashen mouths

as they talk about their dishonest children

as they talk about their cheating boyfriend’s and husband’s

the new grandchild, the latest form of contraception you

don’t even have to take it every day.

Even Plath and Sexton might have

raised an eyebrow and shuddered it was

so deeply entrenched to be judging even among

fine minds. When I read about you Radcliffe

I clutched the paper so tightly I thought I tore

your very sentiments out of print into my

aching lonesome chest.

I wear my hair long as a justifying act

I don’t use communal changing rooms

in case you think I’m looking at you, or worse, why

aren’t you looking? Why didn’t you desire me? IS

a woman who loves another woman supposed to

be the poster child? I don’t want my photo published

next to your intolerance and dissatisfaction in

your moldy marital beds just leave me well alone

I’m doing my thing, it’s not part of yours

don’t flatter yourself, just don’t flatter yourself

you’re not my type.

I know what you think, when I say I’m a feminist

you think; well those types usually are

I want to buy you flowers and bring them to your office

I want to propose a wedding no-one would attend

because people don’t think we’re the same as they are

we’re just girls who haven’t met the right guy

wounded, unnatural birds with confused identity

our parents lament us like Thalidomide babies born

without limbs, bespoken to no-one

if they could, they wouldn’t talk about us at all.

I couldn’t go to some countries, with you on my arms

they’d stone us for who we are

and I’d carry the stones in my mouth and walk into a lake

before I expressed my shame

my shame at being natural

for me

and not quite

natural enough for

everyone else.