Queer Writing for a Brave New World
Here's our final selection from over 100 great submissions of work.
Anna Leach Daffodils and Milk
Essa Flett Where are the Quiet Gays?
John Lugo-Trebble Aquarius
JP Seabright Three Word Slogan from Sex in Context
Kai Birdsall The City
Michael Swindells Time and Tide
Mon Malanovich-Gallagher Bar Mleczny with Dad
Rachael Clyne Susan Expects to Be Admired
Scott Linder The Minor Gods
Siobhan Dunlop a future is a non-essential item
Sue Finch Museum of a Life
Walki Freedreamer Tinkanesh OBLIQUE/S
Emily Crompton A Quietly Queer Post-Modernist Place
Steven Benson Towards a Response to Queer Modernism
Guy A. Forster-Pearce Gay Rights Gay Wrongs
Getting Our Shit Together
Bent Out of Shape
Kevin Walker Modern Haiku
Pippa Sterk Prism Error
The Mollusc-Dimension The Morning After the Zoom Before
Mikey Meng Flag
Serena Piccoli untitled 1,2,3,4
Out on the Page at Working Class Writers' Festival, Bristol October 2021
Four working-class writers; Terry Purkis, Cornelia Wojewoda, Tom Stockley, and Sam Jenks collaborated to develop a workshop exploring the often difficult territory between class and sexuality, and, together with participants on the day produced this list poem along with other collaborative and individual pieces of writing.
I am working class, I am fucking queer.
I am a wife, a friend, a role model.
I am strong, independent, hard-working.
I am not camp.
I’m a fucking lesbian, dyke, a slut.
I’m an unassailable c***.
I am lazy, stressed, a failure.
I am too straight looking, inverted snob, a smartass.
They say I am not marketable.
That I am in denial.
That I am confused.
That I am an imposter.
That I am greedy.
That I am stupid.
That I am strange.
That I am not really educated.
That I have a chip on my shoulder.
That I am rough around the edges.
That I am weird.
That I am a bummer.
That I am thick.
That I am problematic.
That I am difficult.
That I am wiley.
That I am bitchy.
That I am domineering.
That I am conflicted.
That I am know-it-all.
They say that I’m a pervert.
I should stay in the background.
I should just work hard.
That this is going to be a struggle.
That there’s enough of this now.
That there’s enough “woke”.
They say that I am “in very poor taste”.
They tell me not to be me.
They say I haven’t changed much, I just belong to more minority groups now.
They say queer isn’t for kids.
They say this is being rammed down their throats.
They frown at “more of that LGBZYMZ shit”.
They call me a carpet muncher, a tick-box, a fairy.
They call me a carrot crunching farmer, a gypsy, a muff diver.
They call me fake, say I don’t belong here.
My world is uncomfortable, it doesn’t fit together.
I am excluded.
They don’t want to represent me.
But I am beautiful and tender.
I am a supporter.
I am angry.
I am celebrated.
I am golden.
I am luminous.
I am amazing.
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