Alone I

Read poems, out loud.

To an audience of me– purring each line, worshiping each stanza. Glorious, the outlaw spirit. The pride taken in vulnerability, mistakes, sexuality. All the desperate humanity, every loss and victory commemorated. THIS. Threw my head back and laughed, the delight of just reciting empowering stories and important language. 

If it was this much fun saying words of someone else… oh, the electricity possible in my own. 

Mine. My words. Next time, mine. 

And then, with others– not alone.



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