Standing Proud 2021

OLIVER BLISS (He/Him) I am a textile artist exploring themes around identity, validation and gender expression. I am also an avid reader. The group has been incredibly supportive, nurturing and welcoming. It has become a highlight to the weekend. I have the pleasure of listening to different stories and experiences, whilst having the opportunity to experiment and share in a safe environment. https://oliverbliss.blogspot.com STANDING PROUD 151

A Word Square to Live By My difference will make me stronger Difference is both desired and hated Will you let them break you? Make yourself bolder, own your truth. Me, I tell myself this story Stronger are the ones who know Stronger are the ones who know Me, I tell myself this story Make yourself bolder, own your truth. Will you let them break you? Difference is both desired and hated My difference will make me stronger’ 152 STANDING PROUD

The Journey Home Fifteen minutes gone and fourteen lives passed Each person’s story streaming along fast The river today is like mirrored glass But who are these people I pass each day? Rhythm of my heart, the air in my lungs Cycling, I’m taken by this daydream A couples’ crisp laughter and passing tongues Ribbons of fractured daylight shine and gleam Shifting light through the canopy of leaves I wonder below their veins above me They serrate softly with the mild breeze Delicately touching, caressing, free There are these patterns, things start; and they end. One journey may close, and others transcend... STANDING PROUD 153

Insatiable There is a thirst for more You said there is a cave What is it that you want for? Hollow like the howl of hounds hunts you like roaring waves There is a thirst for more Reaches from underground It tears you and enslaves What is that you want for? It is there, tightly bound Haunts you until the grave There is a thirst for more A thing silently vowed Hidden within you; saved What is that you want for? It won’t ever be bound Won’t be told to behave There is a thirst for more What is that you want for? 154 STANDING PROUD

Pride It all started whilst watching tv Male characters saving the day and wanting to be sat beside them. Stubble and exposed arms Wide necks and strong jawlines. Struggling, angry locked embrace Grappled with their enemy It progressed to strange dreams. Arguments with my fifth-grade teacher. He chased me at night, I couldn’t get passed how it felt When he finally caught me. Then it all changed when the spots came and shame stayed I learnt about those names Poof, Gay and ‘Nancy Boy.’ My lips were too red and my lashes too long. They knew me Before I knew myself And told me those words Before I knew their meaning But when Ellen told Celine she was ‘Gay’ It was ok... And I knew I was the same STANDING PROUD 155

Then I saw my parent watching TV They liked Brian on Big Brother 2 and I no longer felt afraid. It began with opening half the closet door I told my ‘Longest Serving Friend’ She taught me about the Manic Street Preacher’s and Stephen Fry’s biscuit game. The milestone was my older sister. Then mum, dad and finally little sis. Then the whole family knew, And no one hurt me, there was only hugs and warm tears. Though I regret I never told Grandma too. So, when College came, I knew I had changed I knew I could be this person With every greeting that came I stayed, I didn’t hide away So, when the question came I had confidence to Say ‘Yes, I’m Gay’ And day by day my Pride grew again And I became this person. 156 STANDING PROUD

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BECKY LEONARD-DIXON (She/Her) Becky Leonard-Dixon is a thirty something bisexual, queer, Yorkshire woman living in the Midlands. She has written poetry intermittently since her teens and enjoys riding her motorbike, playing the guitar, and singing. She works for a housing charity and part of her role has been creating and delivering inclusivity training. In 2017 she won the accolade of “most inspiring” from her organisation and in 2020 she was delighted to be recognised by Stonewall as “Role Model of the year” for her dedication promoting workplace equality relating to sexuality, gender, and mental health. STANDING PROUD 159

Things That Make Me Smile Unicorns and butterflies And everything that’s queer Looking out for others And when I face my fear Long motorbike rides And relaxing by the water Watching children play and laugh And time with my stepdaughter Taking in You Tube videos To learn something new Looking back on my life And realising how much I grew Musicals and Disney films Escaping back to childhood When I believe in myself And realising that I’m good! Catching sight of my pride flag And filling up my diary Being an active advocate And being downright fiery! 160 STANDING PROUD

Things That Fuck Me Off Sexism, racism, ableist folk Cis and hetero normativity People trying to shame me And suppress my creativity Getting in my personal space Not taking no for an answer Excessive power and privilege And kids ending up with cancer Getting cut up in traffic And small-minded people’s bias Excusing your own ignorance Passing it off as being pious Noisy neighbours being dicks The justice system’s so flawed The Tories and so many voters Paedophiles getting less time than fraud People who don’t listen And people who just don’t care Being in a minority It’s all just so unfair STANDING PROUD 161

Pride 2020 The protest for us is cancelled The festivities and fun too Covid locked us all down Because our numbers grew and grew Lots of us will still be visible On platforms around the world Don’t worry, it’s not cancelled Just on hold, deferred Pride itself happens everyday Because it lives inside us Burned deep into our souls The important matter still discussed There’s lots to join online And books to read are plenty Fill your time with learning Don’t let if feel empty We’ll have our party next year And wont it be amazing We’ll have beaten Covid And be back to our embracing 162 STANDING PROUD

Pride 2021 Pride is not going to happen We won’t get our march back on No parade through our streets Yet, inequality is not gone If anything, its deepened After a year of isolation Bigots have been empowered All across this nation! Our community can’t come together After a hard year now passed We want to protest, and we need a party And to have an absolute blast! Pride is still on hold Cancelled, deferred No right to shout our message Gone are the days of being heard STANDING PROUD 163

Gaga For Gaga How can I describe you Without sounding well, gay It true that I’m bisexual So are you, so I’ll say Your artwork with make-up Is a sight to behold Your costume and styling Ever evolving, never old You sing, and dance around Your performances, always the best You manage your PTSD Without getting majorly stressed You live with Fibromyalgia While touring around the globe Still putting on a spectacle With your iconic wardrobe You’re an absolute idol of mine A pop star that’s endured You’ve shown me, no matter what My voice deserves to be heard 164 STANDING PROUD

Ally I’m an ally too To gender variant folk I get it, we’re each Bespoke Your gender, or lack thereof Doesn’t erase my own We’re all on a spectrum No-one should feel alone I’ll fight in your corner And notice when you need me I’ll advocate beside you Until we’re equally free STANDING PROUD 165

Awkward Since I came out I’ve been on my own Too complex to pair Because I’ve grown Too queer for most men And awkward of women Being an out bisexual Means I’m starting again Being out has changed me It’s not about sex anymore It’s about self-acceptance Not the desire to explore I don’t want to explain What being bi means Just someone who gets it And shares my routines 166 STANDING PROUD

In And Out I am fiercely bisexual In all of my safe spaces I’m visible and vocal Just, in certain places I’m getting braver too Even if I feel unsafe Dropping hints and tips Less self-censoring chafe I’d say, I’m 80% out Going in the right direction Starting to accept myself At every intersection My shame is shifting And I love my bi identity I can accept the queerness At the centre of my entity I have a final hurdle And now it’s there, in sight I’ll clear it, in my time When it finally feels right STANDING PROUD 167

Joe-Joe My boy, beloved Now a young man! Came out, a proud bisexual Now even more in my clan! It’s so beautiful to see How free he lives his life Out so young No struggle or strife Just a happy, young, bi man Living true to his heart His inspiring self-love Gives me hope, a restart Fluidity is exquisite It gives unbridled strength To keep his future bright I’d go to any length 168 STANDING PROUD

Labels I like my chosen labels They helped me to grow They help you understand me Little nods, so you know Mentally ill, single, queer The labels I’m attached to The labels that explain me Still they are too few What about fatherless And trauma survivor Writer and friend And motorbike rider I’m a mixed bag Of flavour and feelings Of self-destruction And gradual healings My labels help me They’re not about you My labels are important Because they got me through STANDING PROUD 169

Standing Proud I’m still here a full year on Thinking, feeling, and writing away living my life less cautiously With so much more to say Writing really helps me Even if it’s never read I can express how I feel Clear my swirling head The people that I met here Are now all in my heart They’ve helped me understand Given me a place to start The Standing Proud Writers’ group Is my place to be free Because we’re standing together And community is key 170 STANDING PROUD

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Shame No better am I when I sit in silence, My lack of words supports the violence, The tribal bond betrays my compliance, They cannot see the simple science, I wish I had the voice to speak, Instead, I occupy a space and reek, Dissolving slowly through the week, While they suffer, I am weak. They come here looking for a home, It is not their choice, most come alone, They do not need to atone, I cannot even speak out at home. I hate this light that exposes me, All I want to do is flee, Instead of rising to what I could be, I walk inline like a bee. STANDING PROUD 175

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MICHAEL SWINDELLS (He/Him) Michael is a fiction writer with a northern twang. Along with his partner Rev Tony they are trustees of The Rainbow Project (Rotherham). As part of a midlife crisis Michael is studying for an MA in Creative Writing at Sheffield Hallam University. In his spare time he mentors young people forThe Prince’sTrust. And eats too many wine gums. STANDING PROUD 177

Old Advertising Joan Collins and Leonard Rossiter on an aeroplane to nowhere. Sloshing the Martini on Joan. Never on Leonard mate. Repetitively Advertising. Reinforcing gender types. Types. Gender Reinforcing. Advertising Repetitively. Never on Leonard mate. Sloshing the Martini on Joan. On an aeroplane to nowhere. Joan Collins and Leonard Rossiter. 178 STANDING PROUD

Flightpath I try not to disturb him. My bag is in the hallway. This is becoming a new habit. 3AM. leaving the secure warmth of his body I kiss his neck, and ease towards the edge of the bed. It’s when he stirs that I feel it – not guilt, but a lonely space that opens before I leave. If he lays still there is a pause – but that emotion kicks in before I reach the cool air of early morning. The three-night runs are fine – outbound Friday early flight, inbound Monday. Regular route with crew based at Heathrow. Mainly business clients. Easy to handle. Company expenses jollies. The last of the passengers on the outbound were different. The airbridge was empty – they had left the Saville Row brigade to embark. A shouldered rucksack strung over one arm and a small holdall bag in the other. And a baby. Checking their tickets, I led them to their seats. ‘Could you hold the baby for a moment while I get the bags stowed?’ He was looking at me. A sleeping bundle wrapped in a pink blanket was duly deposited in my arms. ‘Is she always this good? Aren’t you beautiful?’ Small talk. They settled into the seats and I handed her back. ‘Cabin crew prepare for take-off.’ Another lactose intolerant. Business class gin. STANDING PROUD 179

Warm the milk.   ‘Cabin crew prepare for landing’ ‘Didn’t holding him make you broody Mike? It suited you. Have you and Lewis thought about a family?’ ‘Him – are you sure Lorraine?’ ‘That’s what they said.’ Seat belt unbuckle sign illuminated. Central isle blocked by passengers. Overhead lockers start to empty. The couple stayed in their seats, waiting for the usual crush to subside. ‘Could you hold the baby for a moment while I get the bags out?’ She was looking at me. ‘Sorry about earlier, I assumed he was a girl.’ ‘Don’t worry about it. We say both.’ I smiled, but they could see I was struggling. ‘They haven’t told us what they are yet.’ Dinner, home with Lewis. Time for that discussion. I think we are ready. 180 STANDING PROUD

An Age of Innocence He opened a file, made meticulous notes. All the pertinent information. Recorded responses, acknowledged facts, disputed others. Everything. In detail. As they do. Official. Otherwise, he’d miss things, important things. Evidence. It wasn’t the first time, nor the second. Occurrences spread over his life. A repeat offender. And that required action. Corrective action. To let things slip would lead to an escalation. And we can’t have that. So, he plotted, figured out a plan. Surveillance. Covert observation to nail the culprit. Under cover. Harness technology. Not something he could do alone. Responsible help needed. He slept on it. She’d agreed, albeit grudgingly. He’d sensed the hesitance, something amiss. Like she knew. So, they set up a camera, motion sensors poised to capture movement, concealed in the morass of possessions. Then they waited. Not something you could do on the hop, spontaneous. The day came. Movement. Feeling loose, wobbling, finally detachment. He’d waited for that natural separation, no sense providing loopholes, get out clauses to be used as means of avoidance. Stowing the goods in the usual spot, a universal point of exchange, he snoozed, confident in a resolution. First set gone, spares no longer available. His last chance. But once again, Tooth Fairy prevailed. STANDING PROUD 181

The Jubilee Line Inheritance is a funny thing. A mate got left a small hotel in Norwich, enough to see him to the last breath. Me – I copped the Jubilee Line. Yup, the Jubilee Line. Well not me exactly. It had gone to my lefty older sister who loathed the monarchy as much as the Conservative party and passed it down the line. An entrepreneur uncle of dubious status now departed on his last tube ride had thrown his tea-towel into the ring of Royal memorabilia. His earthly trading years over, I duly took possession of the remnants of his business empire – a collection of 1977 royal tack housed in a commercial unit in Neasden. I’d invited Julia to have a look around, time to reconsider her generosity. I was an interruption to an ancient forest protest. Fine. “Why would I take blood money from two capitalist shite merchants” – I’ve edited the obscenities. The mobile signal was as intermittent, but I got the gist. The eBay auctions raised almost a grand – not bad for mass market trash. The lockup fetched half a million as a proposed expansion of the underground station on the Jubilee Line. I invested in two hundred acres of woodland, former property of Crown Estates and cultivate Christmas trees. I send Julia one every year with a set of red, white, and blue baubles. She doesn’t visit. 182 STANDING PROUD

Tide And Time From the eighteenth floor you had the occasional glimpse of heaven. To heavens left were bulk storage containers, shoreside repositories for North Sea gas that shared an industrial complex with the landing terminal for off-coast wind turbines. But Jack concentrated on heaven. Just a glimpse. Derek sat on the fire surround. He was the only thing left to pack. He’d been there a while. The lads demanded an extra case of canned Bud, the bottles were a rip. A can filled a glass, and then some. A bottle left an inch of foam. Hauling arse for a full morning, lugging the vintage G-Plan to the ammonia scented lift, then out over the lawn to the box van, onward bound to its final resting place, required recompense. Worth every drop. It added five miles to the twice weekly appointments. Jack had time. There are moments when terminal is a comfort. A couple from Chingford, a former deputy head and her husband had cashed in a three-bed semi and paid over the odds for that occasional glimpse of heaven. Derek understood. The USP, the only balcony with that view. All other residents lived in gasworks paradise. Heaven demanded the premium. Cans, not bottles. From the dormer of the new bungalow, heaven was graspable. But Jack had time. Three years. Terminal. An estate agent window find, more expensive than the granary loaf he’d ventured out for. New modern auction rules. Bugger that. He made an offer. Cash. Jack didn’t mind paying over the odds too. And with it came proximity to heaven. ‘You do know it’s got a maximum of three years before it’s over the cliff?’ He did. The first job was a standard rose, Ballerina. Cultivated from a shrub variety onto a tall stock. Grafted buds sliced into place. A repeat flowerer, best from second year onwards. STANDING PROUD 183

Spading the sandy soil into a heap he deposited Derek beneath the roots and heeled in the compost, topped off with bark chippings. The first gust sent them skywards, eventually joining the daffodils, thirty feet below. Landslip. From his bed in Ward C Jack watched the local news. Derek and the Ballerina had gone, the patio too. Two and a half years. Hospitalised. Three weeks. One last glimpse, then he left. 184 STANDING PROUD

Aunty Ivy There were things you didn’t talk about, topics of conversation that had no voice. One of those was Aunty Ivy’s cat flap. Sunday. Mum, tradition, and Aunty Ivy dictated that we had afternoon tea, a meal now commercialised by counterfeit Victorian tearooms to fatten the waistlines of punters with hydrogenated this and that. Antimacassars over the ladderback chairs, tablecloths, doilies and all the right cutlery for the job. Gold bordered tablemats with hounds and huntsmen. We didn’t do that stuff at home, but Aunty Ivy preserved the standards of the family – somebody had to. I’d have a better wash than the usual cat lick weekend skim that got me through the day. Shoes got treated in the same way as my face, slapped with polish, not the quick wipe with a rag to get the thick of the mud off. And a collared shirt, of which I had five, three for school and two for best behaviour, on show, do as you are told days, was matched with grey trousers – two pairs – and grey socks. The socks had a slight stripe woven into them. It was the same routine for christenings and funerals. We got there at four. It was just mum and me. We didn’t talk about dad either. Not at Aunty Ivy’s. Crust off sandwiches cut into quarter triangles and Jamaican ginger cake baked in her Tricity President. Mum had the same cooker, but our cakes came from the Co- op. Sunday afternoon tea was when the best crockery came out. It’s a word I don’t use anymore, feels old and disrespectful. Tea, never coffee or anything with a whiff of fizz, china cups and saucers filled from a delicate pot. If you spilt, you left it in the saucer and prayed she didn’t notice. A diamond cut glass sugar bowl with polished Sheffield STANDING PROUD 185

plate claw tongues for the selection of cubes. You got your own teaspoon. In later life I inherited the lot, chips, and all. When I looked closely the hand decorated plates were slip transfers and the sugar basin pressed glass. There was a condiment set too, newer than the rest, the tang of vinegar still present. It questioned my recollection as she loathed the stuff. She became human. I loved her a little bit more for it. Mum and Aunty Ivy would natter about things I didn’t understand or care about, and most of the time I concentrated on not making a mess. But they didn’t talk about the cat flap. I’d have remembered if they did, Aunty Ivy was the only person I knew who had one. They were expensive. You were spoilt if you could afford one, pampered and loved. I remember being sent out of the dining room and being allowed to take my cake with me to watch Doctor Who. On the way home Mum said we wouldn’t be going the following week. She seemed happy. They didn’t talk about my older cousin, David either. Not at Aunty Ivy’s. We talked to David a lot. He came to mums on a Friday night. Later with his friend John. They stayed for tea. Shop bought the lot of it, unless mum couldn’t be bothered, then it was a dash to the local chippy. John liked the fishcakes with slices of potato and peppered fish in a thick crusty batter. And peas. David slathered everything in vinegar. Mum knew what everyone wanted. They stayed for a few hours and then went home to let the cat out. 186 STANDING PROUD

Gone Fishing As the skeleton of a Raleigh Chopper broke the surface of the River Don, Jenny assessed the towpath for a space to haul in the catch. The rope scraping the callouses of her palms, threatening to open old wounds. She had played with various fastenings to secure the line to the neodymium magnet and settled on a slipknot. Trial and error consigning valuable equipment to further burden the riverbed. Margie acknowledged her wife’s need for solitary release and left Jenny alone in the pursuit of recovery. She didn’t share her partners incredulity at the crap people threw into the river. One glance at next doors garden confirmed the tendency to dump unwanted stuff wherever the oiks fancied. Margie had been fostered – then adopted. Her cynicism allowed exclusions to the rule. The issue was simplistically endearing. Jenny liked to rescue stuff. Complication set in when she insisted on bringing it home to nurture it back to usefulness. A garage full of oxidised junk that stank of death and which pissed grime onto the concrete had displaced their Fiat 500. The rose bed gave way to storage sheds as the collection of metal queued to be loved. But it was therapy, so who was she to whinge? The seat was still intact, the bike itself not as decayed as first assumed. A recent dumping. Taped to the crossbar was a mobile number. Unusual. Her first thought was to keep it, salvage rights. Her second was for Margie. One less burden to house. She drew on her rollup for support and stubbed it out, placing the tab end in her holdall. ‘Is that you son, where the hell have you been?’ STANDING PROUD 187

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Like what you read? Why not get involved? We run free writing workshops throughout Worcestershire and over online platforms. Each year we run writing courses for people on a journey to better mental health, as well as anyone who identifies as LGBTQ+. Feel free to email to express your interest and we’ll let you know when our next courses start. Part of a community group, charity or organisation who might benefit from a writing session or course? Please do get in touch and see how we can work with you. Our facilitators have experience of working with young people, vulnerable adults, at risk children, those battling addiction, offenders and abuse survivors. Email [email protected] to express your interest. www.the-word-association.com STANDING PROUD 193

Support Us Thank you for picking up this book and reading it. We hope you loved it! We have plans to deliver many more writing programmes and produce many more anthologies. To keep it free for our participants and audiences, we rely on funding. If you love our work and are able to contribute a small donation, we can use it towards match funding our next project! Thank you so much. https://ko-fi.com/thewordassociation Cover image by Al: The cover image is a rainbow tie-dye t-shirt, representing the rainbow flag. I chose to take the picture in my garden as I wanted to show how natural queerness is, and how we have always been here. I also lay flowers across the t-shirt to show the different aspects of the community, some are yet to bloom, and some with petals falling. The flowers represent both a celebration of vibrancy and life and a memorial as a mark of respect for the dead, both key aspects of the Queer community. 194 STANDING PROUD



This project has been generously funded by The National Lottery Community Fund, as part of our larger anthology project. Featuring the work of Sophie Ridge, Al, Dawn Wright, Corinne & Daisy, Rachel Burgin (Burgs), Chris Cox, Kathryn O’Connor, Nicola Longworth-Cook, Steve J Martin, Jay Rose Ana, Oliver Bliss, Becky Leonard-Dixon and Michael Swindells. This project was coordinated by The Word Association CIC with support from Out2gether, Worcestershire Libraries and Bromsgrove District & Redditch Borough Councils. www.the-word-association.com www.out2gether.org.uk Cover image: Al