A poem By My Children at My Funeral

A poem By My Children at My Funeral

My mother was 3 the first time she passed away.

“Passed away?” “Passed away?” “Only 3?”

In my culture, we don’t say died. We say passed away.

She passed again at 10 and 17.

Long before she knew

Women die a thousand deaths before they’re ever buried.

When we were growing up, she didn’t die.

But she hardened a little.

And softened a lot.

And she stood where she used to kneel.

And she wept and she wept.

That was my mother.

A joyful woman who wept.

A girl who died and lived to tell about it.

Your Voice Matters. You Are Welcome Here.

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Help • Hope • Healing • Heard

Meander

Meander

The river meanders,

as it must,

and we set out on our travels

hoping to arrive

in a different place,

a better place.

We struggle at times

with the undertow of

doubt and fear,

wary of the snagging branch

or barely visible rock,

and without warning

we often fail to notice

each eddy of regret

holding us back

until a word or a kindness

brings liberty

and we, like the river,

find the sea.

By Paul Palmer

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LOVE WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE AGAIN?

LOVE WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE AGAIN?

Love What does it look like again?
I’ve forgotten
And That just breaks a heart again
That heart’s mine not forgotten
It just needs a little attention
Not forgotten
Love it looks like this…

It’s self care not the kind
That’s just sleep
Or feeding yourself
But the nourishment of
That forgotten love
That forgotten love
It’s you it’s you
It’s you…its you…it’s you it’s you

Love What does it look like again?
I’ve forgotten
And That just breaks a heart again
That heart’s mine not forgotten
It just needs a little attention
Not forgotten
Love it looks like this…

It’s considerate loves
The things that make you you
You you you you you
And you you grow
Grow so much it makes your heart
Explode yet imploding and holding you in that too

Love What does it look like again?
I’ve forgotten
And That just breaks a heart again
That heart’s mine not forgotten
It just needs a little attention
Not forgotten
Love it looks like this…

Not pink ribbons
But the sticky bits underneath
When it’s difficult and ones
A rock when the other can’t be
It’s intangible it’s a tangible
thing that’s visible
that others don’t see
But they do
You do
That’s what love looks like again

Love What does it look like again?
I remember
And That just breaks a heart again
That heart’s still mine not forgotten
It just needs a little attention
Not forgotten
Love it looks like….
Mutual respect and admiration
Self love self care and
Self respecting’
feeling safe to share my lived in

Experience…. I remember what love looks like again
Yeah that’s what love looks like again.

Eljai Morais
Insta @black_lives_natter
The music is he Tourist - Chilly Gonzales

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Silent Echoes of the Polling Booth

Silent Echoes of the Polling Booth

My election plea please feel free to share

Election’s eve draws nigh, and whilst you ponder tax,
A darker truth emerges, stark and grim, a brutal fact:
Sexual violence, childhood’s scars, they haunt our land,
A plague upon our sisters, hearts and minds unmanned.

The parties vie for power, promises they weave,
Yet Labour stands as beacon, fierce resolve they cleave.
Shadow Home Secretary, Yvette Cooper’s pledge so clear,
To overhaul policing, protect the vulnerable, end the fear.

But let us not forget, these numbers stark and cold:
Over six hundred million women, their stories left untold,
Intimate partners’ violence, a cruel and bitter toll,
One in four young girls, their innocence they sold.

So as we cast our ballots, let’s remember well,
That change begins with action, in this tale we tell.
For violence against women, it shan’t persist,
Together we can rise, resist, and firmly insist.

Link to the parties’ positions courtesy of Survivors Trust.
Unveiling Trauma: A Journey Within

Unveiling Trauma: A Journey Within

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Trauma Has No Manners!

Trauma Has No Manners!

Trauma's an uninvited guest,
So rude, it won't relent or rest,
Like bitter pills, its presence stings,
In public spaces, it still clings.

Around you, eyes cast judging stares,
Some shake their heads, no one cares,
Inside, a sinking, heavy weight,
Accompanied by fear, it's not too late.

Therapist's unreachable, aid's afar,
Trauma's voice is just too bizarre,
But when it speaks, don't be alone,
Many share a trauma-prone zone.

Millions grapple with this strife,
Chewing on the bone of life,
So here's some wisdom, if you please,
Hug your trauma, find some ease.

Embrace its presence, let it be,
With love, it calms, eventually,
Words of wisdom, you'll then find,
Healing starts within your mind.

by @Roz Etwaria

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