Walk away (poetry time!)

Dear Daring Readers,

As we approach less scary times in some countries in the world, we are told we can feel safer and head out with renewed freedom. I do not feel that kind of relief, because I am at the very least weeks away from being vaccinated, and actually experience considerable tension and discomfort.

Sometimes I feel that the pandemic has just exposed everyone to what many people’s lives are like on a daily basis. Feeling exceptionally isolated, depressed, unsafe and anxious is a window into worlds we might never visit. Also, it takes us to dark places, and due to the global nature of this event, we can tell people we have been there, more openly than before at least.

I know people, maybe all of us to some extent, want to move on and turn the page. Hang in there for a few minutes and let me take you to my own intersection in the world.

Let me express my anger, and let it connect to yours. It deserves to be heard; it does already exist after all. Let’s visit some places that know little to no justice, and allow feelings and memories to just be. After a pause, the next step is deciding what to do with whatever emotions come up, how to use them as a catalyst to create a different reality, one we don’t want to walk away from, and that makes us feel seen, regardless of who we are and how much privilege we have.

Despite visiting some bleak places while writing, I have found the energy to submit the poem to Queer Amnesty Ireland, and they accepted my submission and put it on their website. It is part of an art exhibition with equality as a theme, and I cannot think of a better space to showcase my writing.

It feels liberating to have sent the piece, a way to honor my commitment to writing and expanding my reach, although there are other thoughts that have come to mind. It feels liberating to find a space for my fury, pain and sense of justice.

This is pride month, and I am finally allowing myself to occupy queer space unapologetically, without feeling like I am in the wrong place, and without censoring myself. The struggle with being accepted by others for who we are is just SO real, the one we fight against ourselves is very real, too.

After many years denying myself my own right to my truth, I can say that I am on a much more compelling and compassionate journey, and I love it.

So right now, I want to celebrate a win with you.

With pride,

Dare to be b@ld

Read or listen to the poem below

There have been other lockdowns,

you might be interested to know.

The contagion was a side dish of many headlines

and you, too, know about them.

I wish you could see through the glass

mirroring multitudes of words and numbers about us.

There have been other lockdowns

imposed by patriarchal society

in an eerie whisper or a roaring boast,

a wandering hand or a pinning down,

blatant coercion or covert manipulation,

and outbursts of anger.

In a world that’s locked and loaded, ready to shatter,

willing to explode, contagious, and out of my hands,

yet my bread and butter…

All I want is to walk away from a world built on your domination,

scaling your power down would take my breath away,

and inflate our collective chances of survival.

Home is where no one wants me inebriated for a takeover.

Home is where fear lingers, but doesn’t live.

Home is where whistles don’t instill all-body tension.

Home is where words are respected and consent reigns.

And in the darkness of my isolation

I would like to tell you, I wouldn’t be here at all,

without that space,

my only effort would be put towards exiting reality.

I am here, walking on a street glistening with orange potholes,

colors change with no dry patches in sight,

and I bathe in water reflecting a night

I think I can’t handle,

maybe one not designed for me.

Like many, I teeter and vacillate at the very edge of womanhood,

the last spot where I exist for you,

tottering straight into the depression in the gaps between genders,

a spot where I stop existing and turn into a baffling question mark.

This pandemic lockdown tells us nothing is missed

as much as feeling safe around humans,

and anger grows as I examine

the rarity of safety on an average day,

at my queer intersection, and even more at many others.

From here I see brightly-lit red corners

with injustice gushing through the layers of today’s neglect,

with a spotlight on inequality always under the wrong name,

crossroads so full of racism there is no shelter from its elements,

disabled people demanding the end of the inaccessibility lockdown,

prisoners valued so little, there is no point in them reentering a society

that keeps the key only to be praised for it.

From here I see highways where work is not called work,

just because there is the word sex in it,

with consent, dignity and pride sadly huddled in corners

where rights are withheld to banish a trade that stays,

that seems to only cast shadows, but can bring light.

From here I see the brightness of our community-powered march

the towering art of our flourishing reclaimed agency,

the almost inextinguishable grit of intersectional good trouble.

I see bodies held at intersections where they belong,

and some hiding to say they were never there,

where no one can thrive or walk away.

I see the intersection of those who turn to their past,

or fiction, crossing worlds to turn corners,

to live in the safe home I can see.

I am here, and all I want is to walk away,

to lull myself into sleep and close my eyes,

unsee it all.

All I want is to walk away,

while I pace and stim in circles,

dancing alone,

standing,

writing,

shaking,

at one of the many epicenters

where I must reside.

And you, just so you know, you, whoever you are, wherever your intersection is,

you can’t walk away either.

Dare to be b@ld

Check out the awesome pieces by other queer artists:

Queer Amnesty Ireland

https://www.queeramnestyireland.com/equality

https://www.queeramnestyireland.com/giulia-equality