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,

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.

I am boundless.

Such a thing as a body could never hold me.

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.

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