RUN, MY LOVE

December 2020. Submission for GRSAC who provide emotional and practical support to both female and male victims and survivors of rape, sexual assault and childhood sexual abuse. Part of the #raiseyourvoice campaign.

You, my love.
There is more power in you than you've been told.
More worth and more shine than the noose has allowed.
When the time comes,
You will soar and will rise.
Rise to your feet and breathe the sweet air
Of all that you've missed.

Your identity rumbles beneath,
It longs to be heard.
Find your words.
Find your space, then take it.
Grab it and run with it.
Run with your sisters' voices around you,
With my voice, even though we haven't met.
RUN.

Leave behind the unfeeling grip
The stale past of dictatorship
And walls and fear,
The comments, the doubts,
The spirals of panic.
Run.
There's so much out there for you.

The people you see that you long to swap with,
you'd give your seemingly tiny life to trade with, morph with, climb into their cocoon.
The pictures you see,
Want to touch, absorb, soak into its arms and disappear.
That love! To be radiating, open and free.
It's real, I promise.
It won't be perfect but you,
You will own it.
And heal.
The air is there, waiting, still.
The control is yours now, my love.
Take it and
Run.

#DreamMaking craftivism


#DreamMaking
craftivism : channeling reflections on feminism, racism and some otherisms into one twee little piece.

This little piece began with the long-repeating rage, and subsequent overwhelm and inability to express anything at all. But with Dream Making from @craftivists it got amalgamated into dreams..

☁️ I dream of the time when there are less doubters and defenders of patriarchy, white supremacy, gender discrimination and the many many oppressive systems that we're unfortunately part of.

☁️ When there is less normalisation of gaslighting, of doubting someone's story, doubting a lived experience, and the consequent denial of someone's feelings and existence. This normalised what-if-ery culture.

☁️ When there can be a relief of the exhaustion it creates for those who are affected by these unacceptable behaviours. When challenging these behaviours is normalised.

☁️ When all voices are heard : not only those of women, but equally the marginalised genders who are perceived as having 'feminine qualities' and thus often receive the same treatment on top of all the prejudices they already receive.

☁️ When all voices are heard in an equitable way: not only white women, but all women. It was underlined for a reason.

I have very few binary and easy answers (because are there actually any?), but I hope there's hope if it's spoken about and dreamed of?

@craftivists #dreammaking #craftivism #dontforgettolisten

There was hush

There was hush, a drift
Mini textures, quiet shift
Space, for once, and still.

With lids shut I sense
Movement so slight,
Steady air, a tingle,
I can feel you above and all that has changed.

The light plays in orbs
Framing patches,
Abstract rays meeting matter,
Colliding with the real, making it sing.

An audience to the flow of every day hum we are,
A witness to form and winding lines,
Barking dogs, blowing bonfires,
Ice cream chimes, stretching shadows.
Pumpkin orange and swimming pool blue.

In the clouds, with a pause,
There is weightlessness and ease,
The rhythm of sorrow left for now, and in the air, a gap for nothing.

Lichen

Pockets of air, hue of mint icecream,

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clean.

air in spades, deep breaths,
they are there
serendipitously in the grass
appearing on branches over your head

a cushion, to keep from floating,
keep you there.

in the hushed retreat, birds doing their thing<
wrestling over food,
busy busy while I’m not.

Listening, breathing,
simple quiet.
They are there.

crinkled, infinitely fine and each to their own, just being.
they just need air.
undisturbed space, little wanderings of wildlife<
a person swinging, sun and hail pattering, coming, going.

A constant,

They are there.


LAND ART WITH LICHEN

When I placed that single piece in the middle of the bell tent standing, I grieved. It was a lone piece.

I thought of a baby lost, former self isolated, past sadness. All I’d lost.

It needed the slate to ground it, to give it space, not floating. It needed to just be there for a while.

It needed a stage, a quiet stage where it could be seen and it could feel the air, and where wildlife and the wind could move it.

[info about Land Art : The Tate]

Exploration at The Hide artist retreat.

LonelichenKazzHollick.jpg