Korinna McRobert

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No words

Just sounds

Sounds disconnected to words

Meanings loading them

making them matter

making them powerful

Crushing my voice

Interfering with my sound

My voice is part of my body

not my mind

which is also inside my body

but an entity of its own

My voice is not only an instrument but an organ

Having control over an organ

is a contradiction in itself

I am trying to control my biology

I am trying to play an instrument in the dark

My voice is a violin I have never seen

Instead of fumbling around blindly

I am looking frantically for the light switch



The plus

The minus

The movement from the baseline to the plus-line

The things we need to have value

Our organic starting point



seemingly neutral

The tabula rasa 

separate from

what came before

what is around us

Our immediate imprint

Branding after birth

Strapped into a vehicle on auto-pilot

When you are old enough

maybe you can find a way out

if you didn’t give your eyes away


Double Standard Compassion

Writing in prose would make it more real

it sits better

I feel safer in airy verse

Maybe I will get through

the back way

The year from hell is over

A new year of change has begun

Probably not too different at all

Both completely changed

A year of truth and transparency

It hurt

It moved

It felt solid and secure

Politeness has no space in it

It inhibited communication

I know who loves me

this year

I know who is a pretender

this year

I know who likes hiding behind

their social norms

their lifestyles

their children

their self-inflicted problems

their endless excuses

as to why they couldn’t

talk about it with us

or write to us since

or accept that we also

became parents

We got on three different planes

travelled for over 20 hours

to be here for these perverted holidays

Back to the place our son died nearly ten months ago

To be met with 




and anger

when we did not adhere to the purposed structure

Because we were too relaxed

Because we were not on time

Because we showed emotion

Maybe we too did not ask the right questions

Maybe we too did not make them feel comfortable

Maybe we did not hold their hand tightly enough

Maybe we did not protect them from our pain

Maybe we all expect the wrong things from each other

No group is homogenous

Not everyone treated us the same way

There was a binary split

between those who could handle it


those could could not

Those who were sensitive 


those who were not

It is hard to believe that people are still people

after something bad happens

People are just charming, hospitable locals on your expensive holiday

until bombs fall on them

they lose their house

and come to your country asking for asylum

Your friends are just like you 

until their baby dies

yours lives

and you still can’t help but talk about

their sleeping habits

their poo accidents

the new words they said


without any understanding as to how it might make

those whose baby died feel


We are also valid


We will not be silent

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