Dear dearest adoption, a backward impossible paradox

I’m honoured to feature Sarah Meadows, director of the play YOU, as my first guest post.

Here is her piece:

Dear adoption,

You are a concept, an ideology, A policy but YOU are impossible to put into words. But we try. 

You’re full of blind corners and unliftable weights. 
You’re a stop start traffic pile up.

Dear dearest adoption... You are the “rich” (and bereaved) taking from the poor. 

You are planes with babies and children confused by a foreign land. You are do gooders with agendas that stink of shit. 

You are the hopeful hearts of lonely souls you fill them up and its pollution. 

You are a teacher a huge social teacher that is still struggling to find its authority and may quit if we’re not careful. Pay HER better. Care for HER better. Give HER a better pension. Give HER a union why don’t you. 

Mothers and children. Mothers and children. The most vulnerable in every story. The ones they let off the sinking ship first. The ones used as emotional blackmail when trying to stop a war. 

The ones who are the abused and traumatised. There’s no other way of putting it adoption I’m afraid. I wish there was. 

A backward impossible paradox. A dark fairytale. An industry. An economy. 

Shattered lives and jigsawed hope and always love. Of course. Always love. But the weights are tipped I’m sad to say and hopeful love and best intentions are often drowned. 

Listen up. 
Hear the unbearable. 
Accept the unacceptable and perhaps then YOU may be possible. 

To speak plainly adoption. 

You’ve got a lot to learn. 

You need to listen to your children. 
The ones you most ignore.

Sarah is on Twitter: @SarahMeadows1

Watch the trailer for the play YOU

If this format resonates with you, you must check out the amazing Dear Adoption website and Dear Adoption Twitter.

It's The Little Things - new poem

It's The Little Things

I want to look like my mum.

I want to age like my mum.

I want to look more similar as the years pass

Not less.

I want to go out for a drink with my brother

Without being asked how long we’ve been dating.

I want to swap clothes with my sister,

For nothing says sisterhood like shared clothes and shoes.

I wish she would pinch my new top and forget to give it back.

I want my children to look like her children.

I don’t want to look out of the window

While relatives coo over her baby,

Pointing out the family features they find in his face.

I want what I can never have.

That’s adoption.