if your story is dull
water on stone
wearing you down until

one day there’s this
deep depression
right in the center of you

and there’s nothing left
to study but that hole
in your middle

and the whole has teeth
and the money never comes
and you find your eyes

they weigh a thousand pounds
the boulder that is
your whole your hole

and it has teeth. rotten
teeth that ache in your mouth
and gnash in your sleep

if your story is horrible
and plain when it lays
beside the pain of the world

and the hole grumbles
and sends its stuff all over
your aching body

and all your friends have
wholes too, and aching bodies
and terrible stories

and the world is a wave
that crashes on you over
and over on all of you

and you try to keep each other’s
hands but your fingers slip
away from each other

and all your pain and your
aching bodies and the
drone of the wave

it’s so loud
so fucking loud
but you learn to drown it out

with the television the
internet and those hands
hands you maybe never seen

if you fold these ghosts
into your heart between
two delicate leaves

even as the waves are
crashing and the noise
is echoing through you

and the leaves fall away
one at a time or
in a great rush

and your tears fall
like rain and your screams
disappear into the ocean

if you are lonely and whole
and you’ve met the maw
in your inmost being

if you are sad and aching
and loving and fierce
and exhausted

hold on
hold on
hold on
hold on
hold on

adventures in medical debt


today I paid my dentist $200 and made an appointment. I still owe $150 but that’s way less than the $700 I started with. thanks to everyone who donated and participated in my auction.

I also have $700 in other unpaid medical debt.


my paypal address is [email protected] if you can contribute. I’m hoping to put another auction together soon. if you have an item or service to donate please visit http://www.billierain.com/donate-an-item

my auction is always found at http://www.billierain.com/auction

this is public and shareable, so please boost if you are so inclined. I am going to use this as my master post on my fundraising adventures.



the arithmetic of lies
2 + 2 = believe me
2 + 2 = i will save you
2 + 2 = don’t worry your pretty little head
i came to help
don’t fight it

the arithmetic of vengeance
2 + 2 = some kind of better life without you
2 + 2 = this longing is not for you
2 + 2 = give me something for this pain
fuck aspirin
this is existential

the arithmetic of illness
2 + 2 = my shattered nerves
2 + 2 = somebody’s pain scale
2 + 2 = everyone leaves
suitcase full of symptoms
see it dragging behind

the arithmetic of hope
2 + 2 = flowers that bloom and die
2 + 2 = flowers don’t do arithmetic
2 + 2 = what is hope
2 + 2 = the nature of this flower is to die
2 + 2 = withering is part of the deal
2 + 2 = is hope the opposite of letting go

i’m falling
always falling
never landing
never ending
never sure
never promised
never the same
never again

Support Abla’s Palestinian Fiance in Raising Money for Urgent Surgery

In February and March of 2015 we held a fundraising campaign for a sick Palestinian man who couldn’t afford urgent Healthcare in Palestinian Authority Hospitals. This man is actually my (Abla’s) fiance and the love of my life and we are planning to get married in Palestine but his illness and our lack of funds has put a stop to all our plans for our marriage. Initially I kept his name out of the fundraising campaign for his and his family’s privacy, and now we have decided to make it clear that he is my partner and fiance but given how many threats I received from people linked to the Palestinian Authority for my criticism of the PA Healthcare system during the last fundraising campaign, and given how it is not safe to give out his name for fear from retaliation since he lives in Palestine we have left his name out.
He was so weak after being sick with an amoeba infection that wasn’t treated for so long (in fact one Doctor at the PA government Hospital mistreated him and wasted most of the money we had raised on an ineffective and wrong treatment), that when he finally got the treatment he needed to get rid of the amoeba infection his body was so weak and fragile from fighting it for so long. He pushed himself back to work so he could make money to help me go to Palestine so we could be married and unfortunately in the first week he was so weak he fell and injured his knee which was previously injured. He is unable to move right now from the pain and requires knee surgery but it is not covered under the Palestinian Authority Health Insurance, and in fact this surgery is only offered at a private clinic and the cost is 3500 Israeli Shekels (approximately 889 US Dollars).
We are both exhausted from a winter spent trying to raise funds and with my love being so sick and in so much pain and with me being so far away in Canada and unable to be with him and to take care of him. We ask for your help again in raising 4000 Israeli Shekels (approximately 1016 US Dollars), 3500 (approximately 889 US Dollars) to cover the knee surgery and 500 (approximately 127 US Dollars) for additional costs (for medications and follow-up with the surgeon).
Thank you for your support and solidarity, we are completely helpless without the support of the Palestine Solidarity community. Healthcare should be available to all people who need it, and we do not believe that if you’re poor you should suffer without urgent Medical Treatment.
Abla Abdelhadi, a disabled Palestinian womyn living in colonized Canada

follow this link to donate:

for frida (and the angels standing guard ’round the side of my bed)

stretch towards me
tell me your secrets
did you walk
did you walk

i think of myself, you
everyone does it
not hard to see the resemblance
i love and share your femmestache

our eyes that burn
our art that slips under the carpets
our gender fierceness
our light skin and dark hair

was your room your kingdom
your bed throne

i can’t talk about you
i can only ask

i don’t know things
i don’t know things
about you

were you jewish
i am jewish
brown jew

not brown and jew
not arab and jew
brown jew mizrahi jew

were you beautiful to them
was it because of your light skin

were you ugly to them
was it because of your brokenness

how did you find your lovers
did they seek you out
were they afraid of breaking you more

did you experience much
physical pleasure
did your lovers
please you

how how how?

how did you live
how did you eat
who fed you

how how how?

did you drown in your
did your art keep you
in company
were you quarantined for hours

how did you find me
how did you know i needed you

i found you after my own accident
cracked skull and dead friend
five of us survived

it wasn’t me who needed you then
amiga boliviana
she tattooed your brokenness
claimed you as her own

i drowned in bible verses
brain injured stupor
words and numbers
floated around my fractured head

but you came back to me
how did you know

my body is my kingdom
i believe in my existence
i wear you when i create
your stare comforts me

i wear this brittle existence
like a crown of thorns
i think i float
when angels carry me

my labor uncompensated
my art unrecognized
my anger wrapped in cloth
and exhaustion

i don’t know how to stay alive
you carry me

i don’t know how to exist
you validate me

i don’t know how to bear the pain
you comfort me

i don’t know why i am invisible
you recognize me

i don’t know how to breathe
you breathe through me

sick and disabled queers are offensive to facebook

several years ago, I started a group on facebook called sick and disabled queers. over the years it has grown to hundreds of members and has become a lifeline for many folks, contributed to the disability justice movement, developed terminology and language that centers disabled queers, and created a model for how to center people of color in an interracial setting.
apparently today my group was deleted without notice for violating facebook’s terms of service.

i’m pain’s bitch

thank you pain
you bitch
thank you

you’ve made me your bitch
pain and i’m grateful i’m
so so grateful

you rip through me
deeper than any orgasm

thank you bitch
you pain
thank you

you’ve got me
collared pain
thank you

you touch my body
fingers of flame
every day

your love is so intense
pain you bitch

oh and every day you
fuck me til i cry
oh god

you rip my thoughts
out of my head pain
thank you

nothing else matters
when i’m with you

just you and me
in the sheets
howling and clawing

who are your people?

trigger warning for description of ritual murder
who are your people?

i love making complications
unbalancing equations
like when you ask

who are your people?

who besides every living and
nonliving being
how to separate one from
the oneness of everything?

in a line up-
do i take the swarthy one
who looks most like me?

are my people my ancestors
my lovers from past lives
my scotch-irish great grandmother
who hovers impishly over my shoulder
with sage advice, bad jokes, cackling laughter
and a swift kick in the pants should the occasion arise.

who are my people?

people are bodies

people are energy
paper bags
olive trees
the quality of light in winter.

who am i?
i am the Beloved
i am the sun
i am a styrofoam cup with sticky fuscia
sugar water congealed at the bottom
and clinging desperately to the side.

i am a work of art that forgets
my own magnificence.

i am hovering over a naked child
eyes dilated drugged strapped down
to a fate neither of us chose
the ritual knife in my small palm
glistens gold steel ruby
reflects nothing in the eyes of
the man i am

i stand over my daughter
teach her to hold the instrument
i pass down pain
red torches of rage light
my abdomen
bursts aflame

i am heat moving quicker than
words meet paper the sun
my creator
i am the sun
i am one.

who are my people?

in temples of egypt i learn
to make my body sacred
creating shapes in my palms
i catch god’s secrets

the sun her eye
radiates over rocky crevices
la luna reminds us of his heart
the earth her battered body
temple desecrated
we leave him battered and lonely
as the conditions of our own souls.

chests tighten cold fists
around the pain
the pain

stick brown bodies
corpses like corks in a dam
but damn that doesn’t stop
the bleeding.

slash the face of our
Beloved Creator
we find in the looking glass of
it is our own that bleeds.



she sits in the crooked branches of a maple tree
surveying the wilderness that surrounds her ordinary body.
she imagines herself strong and fast like a horse
with soft ebony eyes and muscled flesh.

the darkened windows in town see nothing.
burned ashes of the dead after battle
their charred remains pungent in the air
low moans of the wounded enter her without apology.

she is witness to all.

1 2 3 5