Standing Proud 2021

Why? Why am I here now? Where do I belong? Why do I need to feel? Why is it so strong? Why are things wrong? Why am I needed here? I miss the birdsong, The fields, the brook, The trees… Why did I have to leave? Why don’t I belong? STANDING PROUD 101

I Had It All Planned… I didn’t need to worry I would be okay. What job would I do? It’s ok I’ve got it all planned. No need to make a choice it’ll sort itself out, somehow… When I am older, everything will be alright. I’ll know then, sure I will. Just keep ticking along, Trying this, trying that Where was I meant to belong? Remember, it’s all okay, when I’m older… SHIT I’m older – why isn’t it here? I thought I had it planned. Where did it go? Why was I asleep? I awake and do I see what I had planned? Which direction should I take? Which is wrong? Where do I Belong? 102 STANDING PROUD

In Peace And Freedom Land… Peace and freedom I craved, No longer feeling trapped down the wishing well, I had to escape, I had to leave, I had to be in charge. No more compromise, no. The all-consuming booze the poison in the haze. Deep it sank, hidden within. It’s hailed as the one thing we’ve got, The lies it seeps; “Yes, you are wonderful Yes, nothing matters but me I am all you need” it creeps. Until you stand with a drink in hand And see its real truth. You demand it back, your life, your time, your money, your dreams. Thankfully I had stronger plans. Real, long-held plans They led me back to the real me. Though it had to be, just me. To gain it, I had to Leave it all, alone. Here I stand in peace and freedom land. STANDING PROUD 103

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NICOLA LONGWORTH-COOK (She/Her) Nicola is the co-founder of the Worcestershire LGBT+ group, Out2gether and a self-confessed ‘poetry addict’. She writes about Nature, identity and more recently, grief and loss. For Nicola, during 2021 reading and writing poetry has been a shining touchstone in a dark, sad time. STANDING PROUD 105

Shared Thoughts, Shared Times, Shared Spaces A November Saturday morning 2020. Starting tired. Pull my best smile forward to welcome Familiar faces boxed on screen. I notice shadows under more eyes than just mine. And we want to talk about anything, anything else. Some watch mute behind dark squares I gently ask them if they are there? - If they’re ok? They are content to share the space and listen And that’s ok, more than ok. They are the precious, quiet reasons we are here. And I love them for their presence. Some bubble over, sharing thoughts that flow Like lava’s hot glow - mesmerising, A warmth that’s energising On this grey November day. And I love them for their luminescence. So, I steer us into pondering A shared experience and give The rare permission of time A free packet of space To fill with your own words, Your own expression. 106 STANDING PROUD

Twenty minutes later Our worlds burst into colour, combine and expand With the stories they have woven An idea seeds the thought cloud - nothings planned Its fibres are Drawn from the air and spun Into spells to bind us close To lead us into far unexpected places: Shared thoughts, shared times, shared spaces. And I love them for their being themselves. STANDING PROUD 107

“Yes, I Would Like This Registered As A Hate Crime...” I’m holding my mobile in shaking hands, three digits dialled and we’re suddenly speaking. My heart pounds and the room shrinks, cowers, our safe space under attack. Why hadn’t I closed the curtains? (Because I like to see the hills at night, their form one shade darker than the sky, the occasional mountain biker headlamp beaming along a jolting trail... a slow falling star...) But now the darkness outside is dangerous, The sickening orange street light threatening, jeering. Another bang as hard, gritty ice slams into glass and slides down the window - A shock delivered to laughter from the bus stop. A pounding on eggshells and a realisation - how thin this veneer of safety... She is calm, professional, she asks questions. My voice has an unfamiliar edge, cracking with fear and outrage. Why does she ask so many questions? I want to run outside and scream and chase them down the street A roaring angry banshee armed to the teeth But self preservation keeps me cowering in my home, Just a small weak girl on the phone telling tales to the cop. Why doesn’t she send someone right now to make it stop? Please. Make. It. Stop. 108 STANDING PROUD

Recipe For Loneliness Take a many layered onion And dice it into days Spent growing strength and promise in the sun. Borrow someone else’s stock Made from another’s glorious roast And stir it in to give and base to build upon. Meanwhile, capture a small bird Wring its neck quickly, out of sight And be sure to hide all evidence of flight. Slip it into the boiling broth, Season with salt and hate And just a tiny dash of venom from the snake. Then, step back and consider making cake Instead. Continue with the dumplings Formed from fear, unwelcome feelings To float atop and make a satisfying crust. Bake for fifty years in the slow heat of disgust. Serve with cold sadness salad Dressed with tears And eat it all, And eat alone, As you must. STANDING PROUD 109

Coming Out As Bereaved Someone actually asked me the other day, “So, how’s the pandemic been for you..?” Bland. Just small talk like, “So, how was your weekend?” Not her fault, she didn’t know. She must have wondered though At my hesitation when deciding what to say. You see My ‘new normal’ includes talking about death. I’m getting practice at Coming out (again) This time as bereaved. Covid bereaved. It seems important to state the C-word. Callous. Cruel. Cunting Covid. I don’t aim to shock but YOU touched the nerve Tripped the hair trigger, Caused me to swerve From the careful path of calm I was steering softly, gently along Now I’m crashed and cornered, face all wrong. And she’s looking at me, asking why? Expecting a reply. 110 STANDING PROUD

The same judgement call before speaking The same pause to evaluate - Does this person really need to know? Family, friends, yes, of course Other shoppers in Morrisons, postwoman, vet Probably not, and yet I’m telling all Who will listen - Who will have a grief to share too? You? Once again I’m looking for people who - are like me. STANDING PROUD 111

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STEVE J MARTIN (He/Him) Steve lives with his husband Chris, their three chickens and their cat Tiny, who is definitely the one in charge. In his day job he works for a local housing charity, and during lockdown has been working from home. He hadn’t tried creative writing since leaving school before Standing Proud started in February 2020 and continues to enjoy this new creative outlet. STANDING PROUD 113

15th June 2020 – A Good Haul Oh happy day! So happy to browse And find little bargains After so long shut away Some comedy to lift the mood Books to deal with the lockdown lard A very useful lamp Some cute little glasses A Doctor Who mug Greetings cards I still remember The satisfaction Of getting this haul For the princely sum Of fifteen pounds Of getting home Laying it all out And taking the photo The memory of freedom 114 STANDING PROUD

Battenhall Park The wildflowers are just past their summer prime but still boast an impressive riot of colour. A very excitable spaniel charges past, ignoring his owner’s vain attempts to bring him to heel. A pensioner is walking by laden with shopping bags, still wearing the face mask she donned to enter the shop and make her purchases. The only sounds are the rustling as the breeze moves through the trees and the distant hum of traffic from the nearby road. I feel uplifted with the warmth of the sun on my face. STANDING PROUD 115

GLISK Golden glow near the horizon Light breaking through the clouds Indicating there is still hope Staring out across the waves Kissed by the sunset 116 STANDING PROUD

Dungarees I loved my dungarees. Just wearing them made me feel like part of the queer community of which I now found myself a member. I was maybe displaying a common behavior in the young, illustrating my individuality and character by wearing the same as all my friends, like an accidental uniform. The dungarees, of course, were worn with a pair of Doc Martens to complete the look. The look was treated as unisex in our tribe, queer men and women all rocking the look in their own special way. I loved my dungarees. STANDING PROUD 117

Escape I had to get away, so I started to walk, quickly building my pace so I could escape unnoticed. Or so I thought. I turned a corner and there they were, blocking my route. “Going somewhere?” the taller of the two asked me, glaring at me and clearly angry about something. “Er… no, not really…?” I half mumbled, trying to work out a plan of escape. I’d not paid much attention to his companion, so menacing was the man who had spoken to me. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he brought his knee up fast and kicked my aggressor squarely in the bollocks, who dropped to the ground in a private world of pain. “Run!”, my unexpected saviour shouted to me. I didn’t need telling twice. 118 STANDING PROUD

Gone The colours that disappear Where do they go? What does it mean? No Sex in our lives anymore? No Magic? A reflection that desexed gays Aping straight behaviour Are thought more palatable More acceptable Don’t scare the horses. STANDING PROUD 119

Rainbow The sunshine of your pride Breaks through the rainclouds of your pain And makes the rainbow of your validation Present itself again 120 STANDING PROUD

I’m Not Feeling It The rest of the world is entering into the Christmas spirit I’m not feeling it I try, I put up the tree with its twinkling lights I watch Christmas films I wear Christmas jumpers I’m not feeling it There’s a hole in my stomach Where the Christmas cheer usually lives I feel empty, lacking I want to enjoy this time of year Look forward to the big day but; I’m not feeling it STANDING PROUD 121

I Will Still Be Here I will still be here Standing Proud with you This time next year I will show no fear As I am one of two I will still be here I will shed no tear Sharing all with you This time next year I hope you will be near So that together we’ll pull through I will still be here Are things as they appear? Will I be the same what or who? This time next year Being proud and being queer Standing Proud anew I will still be here This time next year 122 STANDING PROUD

RESPECT Rising up Everyone Standing Proud Proud indeed Ecstatic Coming together Taking a stand STANDING PROUD 123

Mycelium Secret tendrils of life Spreading silently beneath the forest Connecting the trees A family communicating Using this ancient network To keep each other alive It feeds on the dead Transforming them Making them anew Nutrition for plants Sustenance For all of nature 124 STANDING PROUD

Soup Warming and comforting A bowl of love With such humble beginnings That lump of stilton Still in the fridge A month after Christmas A broccoli stalk Denuded of its florets A shame to waste it With a bit of stock And a bit of care Transformed It nourishes the body It nourishes the soul STANDING PROUD 125

The Chicken Of A Certain Age Looking through the chicken wire Bedraggled, mid-moult Ever hopeful for kitchen scraps Peering into the gloom Spring now a distant memory When she laid an egg every day Less to scavenge in the garden When will she see the sun? 126 STANDING PROUD

The Ring She opened the parcel carefully, pretty sure she knew what it contained. The small box inside was a somber gunmetal grey, appropriate enough for its contents. She carefully lifted the lid and found within a silver ring mounted with a sparkling gemstone which was clear like a diamond but with just the faintest hint of blue. She’d thought a memorial ring for her beloved Geoffrey a good idea when she saw the ad but now she wasn’t so sure. Now she held it in her hands she felt conflicted about the idea that a little piece of Geoffrey was contained within the sparkling gemstone. How would he have felt about this? Should she have left well alone, scattering these ashes with the rest down by the seashore? Or will she find the comfort she originally thought, feeling Geoffrey close to her whenever she wore the ring? She carefully closed the box, took it upstairs and placed it in the drawer where she kept all her most treasured things. One day she would be ready to wear this most precious ring and remember him. STANDING PROUD 127

Triangles Made to wear pink and black triangles To tell the world they were inverts That they shared forbidden love We must remember them Hold them in our hearts They were once us Live your truth For them Love 128 STANDING PROUD

The World In A Day I’ll breakfast in a little café by the waterfront in Nice. Good strong black coffee and a croque madame oozing with cheesy béchamel sauce and a rich golden egg yolk which runs slowly down the side of the sandwich when you cut in. I’ll take my morning stroll on the beach at Port Douglas, impossibly white sand stretching before me, the bright sun glinting off the great Pacific as she stretches to the horizon. I’m having lunch in Copenhagen, something healthy and Scandinavian, fresh clean flavours of prawns and rollmop herring, the salad leaves nutty and crisp. The afternoon is spent poking around the little shops in Gothenburg, buying interesting trinkets from antique shops and artisan crafters. Shall I get this bracelet as a gift? I must have the hand-blown rainbow bauble for the Christmas tree! As the evening approaches it’s time for dinner. I’ll rock up at Fin de Siècle in Brussels and hope to get a seat without too much of a wait. I’ll have rabbit cooked in cherry beer with carrots gently simmered in orange juice and a chunky mash flavoured with a good strong mustard. After dinner I go for drinks somewhere else exotic I haven’t been in so long. I order a pint of HPA from Catherine at the bar at the Plough and sit at a corner table, quietly sipping and enjoying the burbling sound of others enjoying a night at the pub, occasionally exchanging a good-natured joke with another regular as they walk past. And finally, I’m home again. It sometimes feels like my home is my whole world in the pandemic. I need to spread my wings again one day. STANDING PROUD 129

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JAY ROSE ANA (She/Her) Jay Rose Ana is a spoken word performance poet. She can be found regularly at open mike poetry sessions and her written work, focusing on positive mental health, and life as a transgender woman, has been published in numerous publications. Her spoken word poems have been featured on both local and national radio. In 2021, her poem“MY JOURNEY” was featured on the BBC Upload Festival and several of her poems, focusing on her experiences as a transgender woman, were broadcast onTrans Radio UK during Pride 2021. Jay Rose Ana (@jayroseana) can be found on social media, includingYouTube,TikTok, Spotify, SoundCloud, Anchor.FM, and her website at www.jayroseana.com STANDING PROUD 131

Homeless LGBT Not technically homeless. Bruised and abused, definitely. Family-less, most possibly. Also, not entirely helpless. I do feel quite tired, from begging. Not for food, for others to see. I am scared, and a bit nervous. So maybe, keep a safe distance. If you are here, to take from me. I offer you no resistance. Your offer of half a sandwich. Politely, the answer is no. And kindly, I thank you, I guess. I am, you see, quite gluten free, There are some things you cannot see. I’m also LGBT, and on the spectrum, But I guess, that’s not what you see? As you labelled me homeless. Did you even try to see me? My one goal, fundamentally? To buy my own dinner, without Judgemental stares at me. But not today, at least for me, Because I am found homeless. And thank you, but I don’t drink tea. And kindly, I thank you, I guess. 132 STANDING PROUD

My life should feel free, that is how Inclusion intended to be. Not all fuzzy and labelly. So, I might just experience, What it means, to live equally. But what good did it do for me? If you take a moment to ask, What thing do I really need? Beyond the material things, And your sincere, heartfelt, good deed. I need a safe home, free from fear, Where I can live and be just me. And kindly, I thank you, I guess. Tonight, I need a place to sleep. Where the rain will not soak too deep. Where kind people may give me space, And maybe, look me in the face. And as for LGBT? Am I gay or bi? I have forgotten, remind me, What sex and what gender am I? To the world, I am faceless. In the world, I am spaceless. Of the world, my life feels hopeless. As today, I am homeless. But I am still proud to be me. I will help you, if you let me. And kindly, I thank you, I guess. STANDING PROUD 133

Come Over Here come, be here share you! come, be near dare you! come, be clear bare you! come, be queer wear you! come, no fear they’re you! come, lets cheer we’re you! come, no jeer air you! come, we’re here care you! come, this year where you? come, just come, we welcome you. 134 STANDING PROUD

Can I Have A Quiet Word, Please? Can I have a quiet word, please? A phrase that grips my throat tightly, People really want to know. Of my gender identity. Am I trans, or non-binary? How is my inner strength today? Are my coping skills holding up? Then they ask, am I straight or gay? And what kind of bias do I get? Have some tips, on how to respond. And then, my mind drifts far away. And I wish for a magic wand. So, let me tell you this for once, And cut through the curious gloss. I am a human, my own queen, So, please, release the Albatross! I am following my own heart, And not just my Adams apple. And trying to be good at that. That’s enough for me to grapple. Maybe, you could think about this? As I really am quite sure. You could point your question elsewhere, As everyone else seems unsure. If, as you say, I have a choice, Then please, feel free, to call me Jay. Nothing derogatory please, Just Miss, or Woman, if I may. STANDING PROUD 135

And, in return, I will address, You, how you would prefer me to. Could we agree, maybe, on that? And move forwards, a step or two? Of my gender identity, As you have kindly called it that. Do me a favour, if you will, And pop my choices in a hat. Make the writing really clear. On those little bits of paper. Let me pick one out of a hat. You may explore them all later. You asked about my coping skills, I expect they are not too bad. But if people are mean to me, I get upset, and sometimes sad. I do not really know why, Maybe, they think I deserve mean. But I think it is when, they look, Inwardly, they are not so keen. What kind of bias do I dislike? Unlike this quiet word, right now? I would rather not make a list. I think you want to start a row. To sort one hate, from another? Could you just accept I exist? It is quite simple, if you try, Reach out your hand, unclench your fist. 136 STANDING PROUD

So, if you can, can you do you, Let me do me, fabulously. Maybe even we could be friends, But on you, that maybe depends. Thanks to this brief exchange of words, I do believe that I now see. I am the only one of us, That is really, truly, free. STANDING PROUD 137

What Is It Like To Be Transgender? Great question! I can only speak for me. Because everyone, Fortunately, Is different and unique. For me, Realising I was not a stereotype gender, That the doctor assigned me, When I was born, And that I could accept me, For me, Was a turning point in my life. Living in fear, Of misunderstanding, Of rejection, And hatred, And ‘isms and ‘phobes, And feeling afraid, And being scared to speak up. That is what happens, When we force people, To fit into boxes, With labels, When nobody fits. So, I would say, Being transgender. For me, Feels fabulous. It feels freeing, And it feels ordinary. And I think, That is something, Many trans people want. To just be ordinary. Thank you for question, It was lovely to hear from you. 138 STANDING PROUD

Who Am I? Who am I? Again? Lost one. Lost day. Lost time. Lost way. Hate myself. Again! No one. No day. No time. No way. Learn to love. Again? Someone. Some day. Some time. Some way. Accept me. Again. New one. New day. New time. New way. STANDING PROUD 139

You Are Alone You are alone. On your own. Maybe at home. In the shop, At the park, In the light, In the dark, In the noise, In the quiet. But you are not. You never were. You are loved, You matter. They may call you a freak. Ruin your week. Rip at your whole. Bend your soul. But you are loved. You are worth all. You are loved. And you matter. When they draw near. And you fear. And you hear. A loser, A fool, An idiot, A moron, So pathetic, And abhorrent. 140 STANDING PROUD

Too short, Too fat, Too young, Too old, Too loud, Pointless torrent. Too quiet, Too dark, Too light, Too weak, Too shy, To comment. Too slow, Too quick, Too stupid, Too tall, Too poor, To warrant. Too weird, Too tired, Too retarded, Too ugly, Too dirty, Too different. Unpopular. Worthless. Freak. Pointless. Dumb. Helpless. Stop! STANDING PROUD 141

Breathe! Breathe! Hear! Beautiful. Effervescent. Ablaze. Unique. Tantalising. Illuminating. Fabulous. Undeniable. Loved. Every time, You take a breath. Feel the love, Pour from above. You are cared for. You are blameless. You are uniquely you. You are worth everything. Fill your lungs. Fill your heart. Fill your soul. Come back whole. You are never alone. You never were. You matter. You are beautiful. You are loved. 142 STANDING PROUD

Take Me Whole Cool running refreshing water. Washing away life of torture. Wretched, wicked, act of living. People looking, no one seeing. Defy gravity, earth caress. Drowning down doubt whilst burying stress. I reject your absolution. I accept my own solution. I deny your fake forgiving. May have helped when I was living. But I reach the end of singing. No one holding, no one clinging. Birdsong above, in the treetops. Blessed choir, pray it never stops. Crickets now, the concert begins. I feel like staying, cue violins. Floating like I’m in suspension. Never breaking water tension. Out among the water skaters. No goodbyes, no see you laters. A knowing wind breezes on through. Blows this hollow with something true. And quietly, calls out my name. I am ready, to be reclaimed. If you would, kindly wait a while. Whilst the water embalms my soul. Rest your breath and regain your strength. If you’re here for me, take me whole. STANDING PROUD 143

1981 Arthur Not Martha Moving town, my new life beckons. This ole house, holds red tainted love. Grass outside, an actual tree. And actually, there are three. And grassy fields, for kids to play. Not me, I am warned, stay away. Punished by thoughts of who I am. “You are male, a boy, not a girl,” “Repeat, A BOY IS WHAT I AM!”. Questioning thoughts firmly driven, Forcefully out of my head. The raging bull, the colour red. Heading to big school on my own. It is an hour’s walk all alone. Lost amidst the hugs and kisses. No good luck, and no one misses. Kids making friends, mates hooking up. Hungry, I can barely stand up. People staring, lecturing me. Wondering, what is wrong with me. The quiet kid, shy mystery. They do not think to just ask me. Just push, and goad, make fun of me. Turns out I am good at maths, me. Find a library, late for class. A teacher kneels beside this lass. “You new here? You look uncared for.” Looks at me, like no one before. “What have you seen? At home indoors?” Wiping mud, and blood, from sores. 144 STANDING PROUD

And then there are upset faces. At my own house, of all places. Quiet kid does not speak a word. Fear has taught her to stay alert. Never knew adults got told off! Speech therapy then, a lot of. The teacher from the library. She who made the intervention. Late school, regular detention. Is tough but fair, challenges me. I know that she cannot fix it. I never tried tea and biscuits. The Queen in town, flowers abound. Speeches, ribbons, blue dress, profound! A brief reprieve from lost not found. “Wave your flag, smile, front and centre!” Smacked me, in the shopping centre. It’s not safe, why did they send her? Maybe she might be freeing me? I smile, and wave, hopefully. I dare to dream of being me. For the shortest moment, happy? Does she have the ability? To help the world see me, as she? STANDING PROUD 145

What Will You Be? Who or what will I be? Where and when will you see? How can I be just me? In the world to be free? Future goals, I foresee, Rescind he, for just she. Push back years of debris, Find myself and face me. Will you be there, hold me? I am your devotee. I swear if you find me, From you, I will not flee. I am here if need be. You know, where to find me. A thought perhaps, maybe, Who or what will you be? 146 STANDING PROUD

Poetry Releases The Hurt Inside I turn back to poetry. Because that is all that works. Sometimes, nothing else matters, When the pain really hurts. No one ever firmly says, How long they will or might stay. Judging and running away, Whilst I stay at home and pray. Advice is “reach out”, they say. But that makes me hateful prey. I open my heart each day. And twist it this and that way. I am not invincible. Poetry spills from my heart. Words, no one, not nobody. Can break or tear them apart. I release some hurt inside. The rest I conceal and hide. I do so love poetry. My one real therapy.  STANDING PROUD 147

Destination Dysphoria Bags packed for middle aged man. Mid-flight, a sudden change of plan. Climbing higher and seeking more. Further, than ever reached before. A seat for one, I strap in tight. A lonely plan, a long-haul flight. Time stands still, here up in the air. Longer still, when life’s unfair. Fixated through the windowpane, Trapped deep inside this aeroplane. The drinks trolley is on the way, Glass in hand, forget yesterday. Longing so, for the touchdown roar. To find my feet on ground once more. Burning fuel, my head in the clouds. Hiding, from disapproving crowds. 148 STANDING PROUD

Sitting On The Shelf What useful advice could I give? To people who might feel like me. Who may not yet be quite ready. To take the step, the world to see. What useful advice can I give? What it’s really like to live. A best whole self, embracing me. Instead of dreaming on a shelf. Honestly, it has its tough days. Be clear of that, there is no doubt. But, in many wonderful ways. There is so much to shout about. It is fabulous! It is free! It is brave! It is us and we. The only advice I could give, Is to make sure each day you live. When days are gone, they don’t come back. Keep on moving, never look back. You can walk or run. Not a race. Step by step. Go at your own pace. STANDING PROUD 149

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