METAMORPHOSIS

Who and what is Suffolk Queer Voices?

Our mission statement:

- To create work that is accessible and represents the diverse unity of the queer community within Suffolk.
- To educate and produce positive communication between the LGBTQ+ community and non-LGBTQ+.
- To promote and advertise rural Suffolk, to highlight Suffolk’s drive for inclusivity.
- To create a safe space for LGBTQ+ people, and to amplify their voices.
- To remain inclusive and to encourage diversity within literature, the arts, and the Suffolk area.

We will not tolerate any sexism, racism, xenophobia, transphobia, homophobia, ableism, body-shaming or any hate speech of any kind.

This is our first exhibition and we hope that it wont be our last. We have an abundance of ideas and we believe that there are some incredible projects that would benefit the community. Thank you to The Hold for allowing us the space to share your voices.

- Charlie and Laura

A Lesbian is a Cathedral by Caitlin Francis

Part One

A lesbian is a cathedral
we know this because we
have carried the unbearable heaviness of
sorrow within our bodies
breathed in the shame of
a thousand people
Our mothers light us candles
an offering among stone walls
weeping along our tiles and
bargaining with a god to
release us from our transgressions
Our spires must reach the clouds
for how else could we be so steadfast
in the midst of such disgust
when a woman curls her lip
or a man's eyes spark with anger?
We remain as immovable
as the morning we discovered those violets upon our altars
Ornate tombs settle in the pits of our lungs
holding within the long-dead corpses of
acceptance and expectation
we exhale the decay and stubbornly
insist on existing through the centuries
over and over

Part Two

Look again at the cloisters that run between
the atriums and ventricles of our hearts
shielding our love from the vitriol of the ages as we
place our hands upon every chapel within ourselves
exploring the vastness of who we are and
who we might become
With the majesty of stained glass above you
observe how the light bleeds in and
reflects its colours upon your life
remember how far we have come
and how far yet we must go
Sisters, return to the font and christen your minds
in the power of those who came before us
that we may continue to exist in the light
For someone will remember us, I say
even in another time.

Caitlin intended to explore their religious background through the lens of lesbianism – expanding the parameters of the self, and finding joy in new growth and spiritual experiences.

Birdwatching by Caitlin Francis

I go birdwatching for you, sweet girl
in the glare of my binoculars a smirk flits across your face
flaring the red-brown warmth of its feathers in the sun
in some moments I hold my breath, terrified of frightening away
the kestrel that hovers in your chest, fanning out its tail and
bringing up a blush in my cheeks that I hardly dare believe
I wait with bated breath as your laughter
swoops in, splaying its wings to reveal a cacophony of colour -
my god, you are wonderful and I am spellbound
I couldn’t tear my eyes away if I tried, for the beauty
of birdwatching is in the anticipation
where the green flash of the hummingbird meets the soft stone of your eyes
and I lean in to capture its detail
your mouth against mine, the flutter of my heart
0ne-thousand-two-hundred-and-sixty beats per minute

This poem explores how the feelings they were experiencing during her first relationship were mirrored in nature.

Hypernatural by Caitlin Francis

Queer beings flourish in the city, so I’m told
And I have felt it - the lights that bounce off of the buildings and cast themselves upon those who exist as I do. It is impossible not to shine when we reflect our light upon each other and discover that we are safe together.
In the country, we heed our words more carefully - when all who inhabit this place know your name, one wrong move could bring down the neighbourly communion that is forged through bonfires and parish councils and the fence posts of tradition. After all, it is the countryside that cultivates and cherishes the natural. When the fields are ploughed and the lambs are born, when the harvest is seen and celebrated, there is nothing queer to be found.
And yet, when the cow across the field stares unyieldingly into the very centre of my being, her dark eyes fixed on me, I know she can see me for exactly who I am. And when the stickyweed clings to my trousers, begging me to stay, or the weathered footpath invites me into its silence, I am reminded that I am just as much a part of the universe as they.
See, the way I love women is just as intrinsic in me as chewing the grass is for the sheep, or climbing the old walls is for the ivy. I cannot love men any more than the donkey can fly or the wheat can grow downwards into the ground. As I walk round my village and run my hand along the bark of the trees that have watched me grow up, I know that I was born to be a lesbian. It is the most natural thing in the world, because I am here. I am here. I am here, and I am exactly as I am.

In this poem, Caitlin highlights the ability of finding affinity with the Suffolk countryside as a queer person.

The Knot by Karl Knights

It’s ten to eight and I walk across the science block,
through Mr Green’s empty lab, up two sets
of stairs. I knock on Mrs Mayhew’s form room
and there he is, fourth row back, in between
Chris and Jacob, in his grass stained shirt.
He sees my loose tie, darts over, shuts
the door, lets out a mock tut tut, shakes
his head, rolls his eyes, flicks my collar up.
I jump at his cold fingers brushing my neck.
‘Stay still.’ His smirk. My spare red jumper
done up round his waist, dotted with specks
of mud and tippex, covered in Jack Russell hair.
Becca Hardy’s loud ‘alright lads?’ as she passes by.
His dropped hands, shoved into pockets with holes
his mum sowed shut with blue thread. I glance
at the displays about the stages of photosynthesis.
The black door clicks, Becca is saying muffled hellos
to Ocean, Atlanta, Tara, Daniel and Hannah, asking
if anyone’s got any bacci. He tightens the loop slowly,
straightens the tie. I tuck the long tail into my shirt.
‘There you are.’ ‘I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?’ That smile.
I hurry back to my form, Miss Hartman’s, pinching
the hard, simple knot between my finger and thumb.

Karl’s aim whilst writing the ‘The Knot’ was to write about those first tentative teenage steps into relationships, and the complications of starting to navigate queer relationships, and trying to suss how comfortable you are with being seen. It’s a poem about two boys who are still a bit nervous about showing overt intimacy, but equally it’s about what gestures take the place of that intimacy, and the many different forms that intimacy can take in those early, tense, still figuring it out years.

City Lights by Amy Rehbein

Standing on London’s Southbank, with the lights from the boats going up and down the Thames, watching them glisten and shine against the darkness, was helping ease my emotional state. Seeing my favourite band - Beauty perform live was breath-taking and from the moment they stepped on stage I knew in my heart nothing could ruin how I felt, but then Rowan had to go and steal a bag of drugs. How was I to know she was going to steal it? I didn't know that we would be being hunted through the streets of London when I left on the train that afternoon. Why did I say yes to her when she said she had tickets to the gig? No matter how many times my inner voice tried to warn me, I couldn't stay away from Rowan even though she was trouble.

“Hey Harpz.” Rowan crept up behind me, her breath tickling my neck. I shuddered ever so slightly. “I think we’re in the clear, those bastards must’ve given up.”

“Oh, good for them,” I said, a sarcastic tone in my voice.

“What’s the matter with you?” She asked, taking a seat on a nearby wall.

“You don’t know!?” I started to shout, not caring who heard. “You have ruined my night, Ro. I shouldn't have come with you. You have put us in a lot of trouble with some dangerous people, and you don’t even care. It’s all a joke to you.”

“Jeez, Harper, calm down.” She got up and walked closer to me. “I can’t tell you why I did what I did, but it’ll be fine. Just relax.” She went behind and started massaging my shoulders. At that instance, my stomach dropped, and I felt a fluttery feeling within it. Rowan knew how to push my buttons.

“Fine,” I said, trying not to show that I was enjoying this massage.

“You know what we need? A dance. I know a club, it’s not too far from here. Are you in?”

I nodded, and that was when I knew that no matter how hard I tried to resist, I just couldn’t pull myself away from her. Rowan was like a drug, and I was slowly becoming addicted to her poison.

We stopped outside this club after an hour of walking in silence, my feet hurting. From the outside, it looked dank, and dirty and wasn’t the type of place I’d ever have imagined myself stepping foot in, but tonight was turning out to be one of discovery. “Shall we?” Rowan smiled, walking in without a second glance. I paused for a moment, before following her without looking back. The burly bouncers not even giving us a look in.

Upon entering the club, my senses were all over the place. Everything about it was completely different from how it was on the outside. Rowan already had a drink in her hand, I looked away for one moment, in awe of my surroundings, and when I turned back, she’d already downed it. I watched her walk onto the dance floor and start dancing. Her dancing was hypnotic, and I couldn’t look away. She moved like she owned that floor. My heart started racing, and I knew at that moment Rowan had caught me. Looking over at me, she beckoned me over, and who was I to resist?
The bass of the music throbbed through the floor, entering my body. Bodies moved, skin on skin, the smell of sweat dripping in the air. She moved closer to me. I could smell her perfume lingering. She gave me a slight wink and started dancing around me. My body wanted to dance with her. It wanted to be close to her. I wanted to feel her skin against mine. Her touch was all I wanted at the moment. I ached for her. In a moment of madness, I grabbed her hand. She swung around me to the music, laughing. She moved closer, our bodies almost touching.

“You’ve changed your tune, Harper. I assumed you were pissed off at what happened.” She paused for a moment, before getting right up to my face. “Am I that irresistible, that you can’t stay mad at me for long?” She whispered, her breath lingering on my ear. I shivered.

“Well, I’ve forgiven you, you’re not all bad,” I whispered back, leaning into her ear. I felt her shudder.

“Come closer.” Rowan pulled me against her, it was almost as if I could feel her heart beating from inside her chest. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to know what it felt like. Would she want to, though? Would she push me away? I surely wasn’t her type, being a boring, plain nobody, when she was this gorgeous, rebellious vixen. If she pushed me away, it would hurt, but it's something I'd have to deal with. Life was full of chances, and you needed to take them and not wonder what if. I took a deep breath, my gaze directly moving to meet Rowans.

This was it; I was going for it. I leaned in, our lips almost touching. I knew what I wanted, and that was Rowan. Yes, she wasn’t good for me, but how could I resist this temptation? She licked her lips like she was egging me on. Our lips touched, hers were smooth and had a slight taste of vodka lingering on them. She grabbed my hair, deepening the kiss. I didn’t care who was watching or what people were saying. This moment belonged to us. Harper and Rowan. Nothing else mattered. We were one.

A writer of YA literature and always looking at ways to promote and write queer stories that are aimed at teens. City Lights is a side story to a novel in progress called ‘Second Wind’. Amy wanted to show that moment where you realise that yes, you do love this person and you are going to go for it, no matter what anyone else thinks. Falling in love can happen at any moment and City Lights shows that in an unconventional yet beautiful way.

A Letter from Elizabeth Siddal Addressed to Sir John Everett Millais by Morgan Brown

They will remember me
As Ophelia for the painting
I posed for not my own
I posed for hours in
Your flat dead of winter
In the tub in the dress
You bought it got so cold
When the lamps went
Out you never noticed
Engrossed in your work
A true artist dedicated
To capture my likeness
As if I were drowned as
If I were sick I got
Sick pneumonic
Plagued by this
The rest of my life
That perhaps I feel like
I owe it to you £50 to

My father for hospital fees
I never got better
Really forever I will
Be in that basin, in
The river in winter
Ophelia drowned the picture
Renowned you are
World famous
And word got around
You must see this painting
My gaping mouth
Was said to be ugly
Unladylike and proud
The water is cold
And this dress weighs me down

A poem and sculpture inspired by the story behind the painting ‘Ophelia’ by Sir John Everett Millais.

Askew by Rob Sadler

I keep you in my holding dreams,
devoid of voids which broke us.
I hear you in my folding seams,
a slowly fading darkness.

How did life pan out for you,
after all our jealous conflict?
I, for one moved on alone
in never finding comfort.

In all that’s been and yet to come,
I fell but once - for you.
The jaws of love are fleeting though, as afterlives askew.

You visit me in dreams of late - I know not why or question,
perhaps I do but bury you -
alive in circumspection.

This poem is about love, lost and the sadness of resigning to the fact of never finding it again. The title is a deliberate take on the queer phrase ‘bent’ and the body of the piece alludes to the P!nk song ‘Who Knew’ which was a gay anthem when Rob first came out.

The Caterpillar Remembers by Will Davidson

The caterpillar dissolves itself
cellular suicide
floating and formless
in its dangling corpse
tied neatly with a silk-spun bow

it stops being a caterpillar
turns to primordial soup
floating in walls of discarded identity
mixing memory and the future
to build something better

undeceased, it comes out changed
by its time in the dark
pumping old blood into new wings
shaking off scraps of dead self
setting out to taste the world feet first

and the caterpillar
that is no longer a caterpillar
remembers

This poem is about memory and self, and the things that remain when we make the decision to changer ourselves.

Spaces by Charlie Brodie

I learned to love you in the dark,
Sketching the outline of your body,
My fingertips, my brushes
The shape of your body muscle memory.

We found a home
Hidden in this darkness,
These cracks in time,
Forgotten spaces.

In club bathrooms,
My back flush against the door,
You whisper words that are lost
To the drum and bass that shakes this bathroom stall.

Drowning in a crowded room,
Your smile a lighthouse in this storm
We stand on two sides of land
Yet we are both made of the same earth

We mumble our love under heavy breaths
Boulders on our tongues
Our lips barely move
But staring into your eyes, I see.

Our days spent oceans apart,
Sending messages in a bottle,
Building rafts out of words left unsaid
Stranded but never alone.

The darkness became our haven,
But slowly it became our prison.
Shackled to the shadows,
Our love evaporated in the light.

So as the sun begins to rise
And the shadows begin to fade
The memory of fear
Pulling my hand from your rising chest.

Don’t, you plead. Please don’t.
I am braver than I was.

This poem is about the shadowy spaces that queer people search for, where they can lose their inhibitions and live in bliss away from the eyes of society. It highlights the loneliness that those who find joy in the dark, feel in the light and the change in the final stanza demonstrates a break away from this secrecy.