# data[].attributes.body
We are returning to the earth the long way round

Shells grown by creatures dead, worn again then ground

Into sand,

Eaten by worms and spat out in their shape

Washed back into landscape

By the pull of the moon

We are the earth and all the returns along the way

Shedding skin

You and your kin

Hot surface of singing cells

Touching not ever

But repelling with the force we push our soft bodies together

Bursting and flaking off and clinging on

We are separated by a tricky film easy to slip through

Each day we remain the same,

Those days are straws and I have back pain

But accumulation is a kind of change

You can't stand in the same river

Because the current shapes forever

No matter how still you still are

We are always changing even if only by time

It took centuries to make one rock alone

Systems may feel set in stone

But stones aren't set

The rock is still in the making

Systems always can be shaken

Everything is alive even when its dead

We are spinning stories when we speak of endings

Live life knowing we can live another way

While mourning what's not here that will be one day

Mourning as I would in the new world not with niceties and black tie

But pain and joy in tears song and shout

Rocking our cells from the earth out

And what becomes will be born of what always was

Just like in a dream when you point the gun

Which very suddenly you were holding all along

Or the gills that always were but only when you need them

We are nothing that we weren't already. We are ready

# data[].attributes.body
We are all sick

Let me love you without what's missing

I can hear the other side of the story screaming in the words you do not say

We are all sick

Sticky like the table in my home

Unexplained - cos it's even when it's clean!

Do you know what I mean?

We are all sick

So come join me and sit down

Have a brew over what's true

You are so sweet and I have needs too

We are all sick

So give someone the time of day

Or even just a fucking minute I use to see in gray

It's actually really funny, I'll tell you one day

We are all sick

But it's a lie to say we are all the same

All the same I would never assume

Where your difference lies

We are all sick

Do not cast yourself as hero or victim

Unless you need a story

So make it a good un

We are all sick

Do not cast yourself there is no cavity to fill

You are not molten silver filling gaps

You are gold

We are all sick

We are all

We are whole

We are gold

We are all sick

So let me love you without what's missing

# data[].attributes.body
Dear the lost boys,

I hope this letter finds you well! Haha! See, girls can be funny too. But you know that. And there is more that you are learning to know in your body. If my body is an apology, what's yours? A weapon? We all have a lot to learn.

Every lost boy in their wandering crosses the boundaries of us girls. Your pain isn't your own and neither is your healing. Lost boys, we knew exactly where we were because you put us in our place. Was it to get your bearings? Did it work? We were in car parks, scared. We were in clubs, children. We were at home, getting on. We were thinking how the fuck did I end up here? again.

The trajectory of an individual survivor and perpetrator are not one. One person's healing cannot be reliant on another person's remorse, amends or punishment. Freedom means many things, and we free ourselves to heal without caging others. As individuals, our trajectories may not be shared, but as boys and girls our healing is intertwined. We free ourselves from the binaries of perpetrators and survivors, as if we aren't all surviving something (or worse, not surviving).

I say we should free ourselves from binaries in a love letter from girls to boys. Am I being funny again? I speak as a girl whilst knowing that gender is not binary no matter what structures surround and produce it. People prove that every day by a simple fact of being.

I know some lost people who lost the shackles of boyishness, who made it beautiful, who still find it sticky. I do feel my womaness is in relation to my body and to the position of men. I am excited about all our positions shifting… When I stand side by side with trans and non-binary people with all our experiences of gendered oppression and of being lost, and of joy and of healing, I couldn't ask for better comrades. There is harm and distance between us too, and I wish to be part of furthering your struggle as you are mine. If you feel lost, if you feel boy, I am writing to you too.

Lost boys, when you are lost, the world is losing too because what gets buried is treasure as well as pain. The parts of yourself that you fear, hide and  have had kicked out of you; they are treasurers you sometimes show to girlfriends, friends who are girls, strange girls on buses, girls who work in bars. Often you don’t seem to wonder about our treasurers or our pain. It's a privilege to see and affirm you. But anything we bear alone is a burden. So don't cover up your treasure after you show it to us, because it is those closest to you who feel the sharpness of the stones in the soil when it caves in after you open up.

When you are lost we all lose in so many ways. Countless absent fathers, distant lovers, young men missing, old men gone. No way are you my enemy. Who stepped over your boundaries? Which men did you lose? Which girls got lost too? Your healing is not your own because you are not alone, in harm, hurt or love. We are not alone in this world thats more vast than girls and boys. Experiencing it with and within each other is healing. Let's walk, struggle, scream, look, pleasure, get lost and find newness together.

Lost boys, there's nowhere for you to return to. No place awaiting you but the one we build.

Dear lost boys, you have a responsibility and you have an invitation.

With love and solidarity,

A searching girl x

# data[].attributes.body
Desire doesn’t rush

Though sometimes we run

Minds and bodies wonder

Breaths gasping together

Widening our path or

When we walk alone

The way is known

In a thousand footsteps

In parallel planes

Walking opposite ways

But leaving a trace

Saved from fading

Grass reclaiming

By the rhythm

Of over and over

Gentle carving, grooving

Oscillate and stray

Emerging harmony

Fixed to shifting wisdom

Imagining arriving

Mapping memory being born

Out of reach and alive inside

Out of longing, we draw a line

From a field of action, we align

# data[].attributes.body
Against The Odds