Poem and artwork by Billie April
Mold moved to a habitat unknown
it began to split.
I unravelled, slipped on, different body, different person, name.
Mirage, I put on shows.
Bounded up the hierarchical to Queen.
Then villain.
Which body was mine?
Returned to place of my birth, a religion I chained myself to once.
But this was not home.
Returned to the linear, the expected, the binary.
Lines and lines and lines: no destination.
Swap and slip on,
this brand, these locks, correct colors
Paint on and lock in softness,
Politeness
Hush hush
So many things and ways not to be.
I’m irrelevant here.
But I could not squeeze into mold again.
Faith lost.
I did not believe.
I am curvy, curly, wavy—unrefined.
Futuristic and from centuries ago, crossing boundaries—unexpected alien.
Irreverent.
I am boundless.
Such a thing as a body could never hold me.
Unpredictable.
Swap and swap and swap.
I am my own god.
Billie April is an aspiring writer, and artist working in theatre, film and events. She grew up in North Wales, UK, studied Sociology, and trained as a counselor. Billie fills her time with dance, yoga, and creative pursuits.