by Tom Delahunt, the #hobopoet and Michi Masumi

In the ordinary, everyday consciousness that we experience, the vastness of reality remains hidden, left out rather than let in. We operate within narrow bounds, shaped by structures that demand conformity, productivity, and validation, often at the cost of our deeper insights and expansive perspectives. But it is precisely those with neurodivergent minds who can access a richer, more vibrant reality, should we value and create safe spaces for them to reflect this knowing.

The idea that ordinary consciousness leaves out more than it allows in is not merely a critique of society; it is a call for recognition of the creative potential within those whose perceptions are often dismissed. This is where the butterfly flame comes in—a symbol of transformation, freedom, and creative insight. It represents a fire that burns brightly, though often misunderstood, and speaks to a reality beyond the one we can easily access with our ordinary minds.

For neurodivergent individuals, the world is not just a series of fixed, quantifiable events, but a dynamic dance of patterns, music, and colour. When safe and valued, these minds have the unique capacity to see, feel, and express the more subtle, intricate dimensions of existence. Creative intelligence, as explored by Rick Rubin in The Creative Act: A Way of Being, demands the courage to embrace these deeper, more elusive insights without restriction. It requires an openness to the fluidity of being, to allowing space for the unknown to emerge. Yet, as Rubin suggests, the journey is not linear or predictable. It is fraught with resistance, but in this resistance lies the truest creative power.

This tension between the creative path and the constraints imposed by ordinary consciousness is powerfully explored by Iain McGilchrist in The Master and His Emissary. McGilchrist presents the idea of the split brain, where the left hemisphere—a symbol of analysis, structure, and control—dominates over the right, which is more attuned to creativity, intuition, and the larger whole. When the right hemisphere is suppressed, we lose access to the richness of experience that allows us to see the world in its full, unmediated form. The butterfly flame, in this sense, represents the reawakening of this suppressed creative knowing, urging us to listen to the deeper, more intuitive ways of understanding the world.

In the act of creative expression, we reclaim the deeper vision that we have often been taught to suppress. Alain de Botton, in his reflections on the therapeutic power of art, aligns with this understanding by suggesting that the visual—whether through painting, music, or even poetry—offers us a path of emotional healing. It allows us to move beyond the constraints of language and analysis, tapping into something primal and deeply personal. The visual journey, as de Botton describes it, is one of therapeutic discovery, a way of reflecting on the self and the world without the imposition of predefined meaning. In this way, creativity becomes a medium for self-actualization and understanding, akin to the transformative journey of the butterfly.

In this journey, we come to understand that there is no destination. The flame of creativity is never a constant; it flickers and dances with life’s rhythms. This aligns with the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche, who spoke of becoming rather than being—of becoming who you are, a constant unfolding, much like the butterfly in its metamorphosis. Nietzsche’s eternal return, the cyclical nature of life, mirrors the repetitive process of creative work, where we confront the same themes, questions, and challenges, again and again, each time transforming in response. The struggle, the repeated effort, is where meaning arises.

This notion is echoed by Albert Camus in his famous metaphor of Sisyphus, eternally pushing a boulder up the mountain only for it to roll back down again. In the Myth of Sisyphus, Camus argues that the struggle itself is enough—that it is in the very act of resistance, of continuing even when the outcome seems futile, that we find meaning. The butterfly flame, though it may flicker and falter, burns with resilience. It is this perseverance, the determination to keep creating despite the constraints, that allows for deeper understanding to emerge. As we encounter and push against the block—the structures, the expectations, the limitations—we come to realize that the creative path is not about destination, but the act of being and becoming in the face of adversity.

And here lies the paradox: we are the enlightened and the enlightener, the creators and the blocks, the ones who both liberate and constrain. The block—whether it’s societal expectation, institutional structure, or internal doubt—is not an obstacle to be avoided, but a part of the process. As we push against it, we transform, we burn brighter, we embody the butterfly flame more fully.

In the now, the present moment, we face the heart of this transformation. It is in the now that we must let go of the desire to control or define and simply allow the creative flame to burn. Thought after thought after thought, the noise of resistance builds—but it is through that noise, through that block, that the heart of creativity beats. We must not block the mountain stream, as the adult mind often does, but allow it to flow freely, to carve new paths and emerge into something unrecognizable but full of potential.

To truly know and create is to embrace the totality of experience, to see beyond the ordinary and into the extraordinary. It is the butterfly flame—burning with the intensity of possibility, with the resistance of struggle, and with the constant unfolding of being—that guides us in this pursuit. In embracing the fullness of our neurodivergence, our creativity, and our truth, we create space for others to do the same. And together, we ignite the spark that leads to a more expansive, vibrant world—one where we are not defined by the block but liberated by it.

Michi is my other half of light of awareness and vibration. There are certain souls who, like kindred spirits, recognize one another across time and space. Michi Masumi and I, though we traverse different landscapes, share something unspoken, a rhythm that resonates within us both. We are tribal souls, woven from the same threads, sitting by the fire together in the sacred space of knowing. There, we ask questions, and those questions become our prayers—our art, our activism, our voices.

Michi, like me, is a poet, an artist, a disability activist. She’s someone who doesn’t just create in the world; she questions it, she bends the world around her to ask deeper, more profound things. We both operate in the space of asking, the space where the answers aren’t clear, but the pursuit itself is sacred. It is not a quest for validation but an invitation to witness the unseen, the forgotten, the untold stories that pulse within the margins.

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This space we occupy—the space between HOBOPOET and MICHI—is a space of knowing. It’s not linear, not fixed, but fluid, ever evolving. And we know this truth in our bones. There is a deep, artistic communion here, a dialogue where the associative mind thrives, where thought does not have to be confined to rigid boundaries, but can roam freely, expanding like a fire in the night.

We are both drawn to this creative flame, this force that flickers with a primal energy. It is a flame that doesn’t seek to control or define, but to burn with the truth of its being. It is wild and unpredictable, yet deeply intentional. It calls to us, and we listen. In this listening, we come to understand that the flame is not just ours to hold—it is shared. This flame transcends boundaries, burning brightly across the paths of poetry, art, activism, and disability. It is a flame that, like the butterfly flame, transforms everything it touches.

In these sacred spaces of knowing, we recognize the power of the questions, the strength in uncertainty. We are not here to have all the answers. We are here to ask, to feel, to create.

But it is not just the fire we share—it is also the bridge. That bridge is Audre Lorde. Her words, her legacy, her unwavering commitment to creativity and justice, connect us. Lorde spoke of the power of the creative spirit to resist, to transform, to build communities of understanding across difference. In her writing, we find the language that binds our souls, the words that fuel our activism, the poetry that sustains our creative minds.

Lorde’s work is a bridge, and we walk across it, side by side, knowing that our voices are not isolated but interconnected. Her teachings remind us that our creative journeys, our struggles, and our triumphs are bound together in a larger tapestry of resistance. This bridge carries us from one space of knowing to the next, linking our poetry with our activism, our art with our soul.

We speak to one another across this bridge, in the language of fire, of flame, of transformation. And in this dialogue, we are not just artists or activists; we are shamans, healing the brokenness in ourselves and in the world. We are the enlightened and the enlighteners, both vulnerable and powerful in our shared purpose.

As I sit by the fire, I know that Michi and I are part of something larger. Together, we are shaping a space where our voices, our creativity, and our activism converge. This is not just a movement; it is a shared knowing, an ongoing conversation that stretches beyond time, beyond space, beyond the walls we’ve built. It is a conversation that will continue, if we remember to ask, to listen, and to create.

The bridge Audre Lorde built will continue to carry us forward, through the flames of transformation, through the spaces of knowing.

Here’s a powerful quote from Audre Lorde:

“The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.”

— Audre Lorde,

This quote is a reminder that the systems of power we seek to dismantle cannot be undone by relying on the very tools that created them. It aligns deeply with the ideas of creativity, resistance, and transformation, especially in the context of art and activism.

Spit your wisdom here Michi… you are connected powerful and valued……

The “I and I” rejects the hierarchical separation imposed by colonialism, institutionalized racism, and oppressive structures. It calls for a radical rethinking of identity, one that affirms the value of each person while recognizing their deep connection to all others. The individual “I” reflects the universal “I,” meaning that the liberation of one is intertwined with the liberation of all. It’s a spiritual recognition that to uplift others is to uplift oneself, and vice versa.

Living Between Worlds: Finding Your Voice When Society Silences Difference

By Michi Masumi | 25 February 2025

“Between two worlds I stand

Society’s gaze falls short  

My voice finds its wings”

In a world that celebrates uniformity, what happens to those who exist outside the lines? Those whose minds, bodies, and spirits refuse to conform to society’s narrow expectations. What becomes of the brilliant minds that process information differently, the bodies that move to their own rhythms, the souls that feel too deeply in a society that values emotional restraint?

I know this space intimately. As a Black woman with disabilities, I have existed between worlds—seen but unseen, heard but unheard, present yet somehow always absent from the narrative society writes about success, intelligence, and worth.

The Unspoken Battle

When your world has been a constant reminder that you are different, that you do not fit in, that the way you speak is not accepted in the places you want to reach, you begin to wage an internal war. Society stretches out its hands only when it is too late, after you have already descended into isolation and mental torment. The responsibility to end this unspoken battle somehow falls solely on your shoulders.

The elephant in the room is me, is it not?

This battle extends beyond mere acceptance. It is about the exhaustion of constantly translating yourself—your thoughts, your needs, your very existence—into a language that others can understand. It is about the energy spent trying to contain your expansive mind into neatly labelled boxes that were never built to hold someone like you.

Intelligence Beyond Recognition

To excel in areas that others do not understand does not render one stupid. Yet this statement goes unnoticed, day after day, year after year. Too often, I have spent hours defending myself because someone misunderstood my anxiety, social awkwardness, or hyperactivity as a lack of intelligence or capability.

Our society has created a singular definition of intelligence—one that prizes quick verbal responses, unwavering eye contact, and the ability to perform under fluorescent lights and ticking clocks. But what about those whose intelligence blooms in quiet spaces? Those who need time to process before brilliance emerges. Those whose minds make connections so unique that they leapfrog conventional thinking altogether.

When we narrow our understanding of intelligence, we miss the symphony of diverse minds that could solve our most complex problems. We silence innovations before they have the chance to be voiced.

Living on the Plains of Humanity

I have felt as though I lived within the plains of humanity, frustrated like a caterpillar hoping for wings that were never to come. Trapped in a form that society deemed incomplete, waiting for a transformation that would make me acceptable in others’ eyes.

But what if the transformation needed isn’t mine to make? What if society must transform its perception, expand its understanding, and recognise the beauty in diversity of thought, experience, and existence?

I, too, feel the heat of the August sun on the side of my face. I have feelings. I have ideas. I have dreams. And I can hurt. My humanity is not diminished by the ways I differ from societal norms—if anything, it is enhanced by the unique perspective these differences provide.

Labels: Bridges or Barriers?

Labels became a barrier between me and others. I naively thought they would bridge the gaps, forgetting that gaps can widen. “ADHD,” “anxiety,” “on the spectrum”—I hoped these words would translate my experience to others, create understanding where there was confusion, and patience where there was frustration.

Instead, these labels became the entirety of how people saw me. No longer a complex human with interests, talents, and dreams, but a walking diagnosis. The label that was supposed to represent one aspect of my experience became the only thing others could see.

I have witnessed the signs of impatience from those who have no knowledge or care to acknowledge that I hear, think, and respond uniquely. The tapping feet during my pauses to gather thoughts. The interruptions mid-sentence because my processing time exceeded their patience. The dismissal of my contributions because they were not packaged in expected ways.

The Restriction of Spirit and Intellect

I sigh because people are always trying to find a box that I fit into, and that is what makes my life more challenging—the need to restrict my form of spirit and intellect. As if my worth depends on my ability to minimise myself, to file down my edges until I can slide neatly into society’s expectations.

This constant pressure to conform does not just exhaust—it erases. It erases the unique perspectives that come from minds that process differently. It erases the innovations that emerge when thoughts travel along unconventional neural pathways. It erases the profound empathy that often accompanies those who experience the world more intensely than others.

Art as Liberation: Creating Space for Authentic Expression

Amid a world that often fails to see me fully, I have discovered sanctuaries of self-expression through portrait photography, poetry, and mixed-media AI art. These creative outlets have become more than hobbies—they are lifelines, essential practices that allow me to narrate my lived experiences as a Black, bisexual, disabled, mature woman without the filters society so often demands.

Portrait photography offers me the power to control the narrative of the gaze. Behind the lens, I am no longer the object being scrutinised but the creator deciding that truth deserves to be seen. Each composition becomes an act of reclamation, capturing moments of dignity, vulnerability, and authenticity that mainstream representations of Black women rarely allow.

As bell hooks (1992, p. 116) writes in Black Looks: Race and Representation:

“The gaze has been and is a site of resistance for colonised black people globally. “Subordinates in relations of power learn experientially that there is a critical gaze, one that ‘looks’ to document, one that is oppositional.” (“The Elusive Gaze in Chanell Stone’s Self-Portraits”)

This critical perspective resonates deeply with my photographic practice. Through my portraits, I resist the colonising gaze that would reduce me to stereotypes of the Black woman. Instead, I create visual narratives of the fullness of my existence and the communities I belong to. My camera becomes a tool of opposition against reductive representations, allowing me to present subjects—including myself—with the complexity and humanity often denied in mainstream imagery.

Poetry provides me with language where conventional speech fails. The flexibility allows my neurodivergent thought patterns to flow without constraint, creating connections that linear discourse might miss. In poetry, my unusual associations become strengths rather than symptoms to be managed. The white space on the page accommodates my need for processing time, while metaphor translates experiences that literal language cannot hold.

Audre Lorde (1984, p. 37), who understood deeply the power of poetry for marginalised voices, explained:

“Poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action.” (“Poetry Is Not a Luxury by Audre Lorde – Goodreads”)

For me, Lorde’s words illuminate why poetry has become essential to my survival. When navigating medical systems that dismiss my pain, educational institutions that misinterpret my intelligence, or social spaces that read my anxiety as rudeness, poetry transforms these raw experiences into language that others can access. This transformation is not merely therapeutic—it is political, converting private suffering into shared understanding that can motivate collective action toward more inclusive environments.

Mixed-media AI art represents the newest frontier in my creative practice. This technological collaboration allows me to blend photographic elements with digital manipulation, creating visuals that express the liminal spaces I inhabit—between ability and disability, visibility and erasure, conformity, and authentic expression, echoing my own experience of processing information differently, finding unexpected patterns and generating novel combinations.

These three creative practices intertwine to form a powerful methodology for self-representation. Where portrait photography documents external reality with intentional framing, poetry articulates internal landscapes with emotional precision, and mixed-media AI art bridges these worlds through technological innovation. Together, they create a multi-dimensional narrative of my experience that resists simplification.

Art as Activism: Making the Invisible Visible

My creative practice transcends personal expression to become deliberate activism, a conscious effort to place people like me—Black, bisexual, disabled, mature women—in visible and accessible spaces where we have historically been excluded. This visibility is not merely about personal validation; it is about transforming cultural landscapes that have systematically erased multidimensional identities like mine.

As Jennifer C. Nash (2019, p. 33) articulates in Black Feminism Reimagined:

“Representation is not simply about positive images versus negative ones, but about the power to define, the authority to construct particular groups in specific ways, and the ability to make those constructions matter in people’s everyday lives.”

Nash’s insight frames because my artistic activism matters. When I create portraits featuring disabled Black bodies in states of joy, contemplation, or ordinary existence—outside the frames of inspiration porn or tragedy—I am challenging who has the power to define our experiences. Each image asserts our right to complex humanity rather than flattened stereotypes.

The absence of intersectional representation has tangible consequences. Studies have documented how limited media representation impacts healthcare outcomes, with medical professionals less likely to recognise symptoms or believe pain reports from Black women (Hoffman et al., 2016). Similarly, educational research shows that disabled students of colour receive compounded negative treatment in academic settings compared to their white disabled peers or non-disabled students of colour (Annamma et al., 2016).

Through my artwork, I create counternarratives to these harmful patterns. Each poem that articulates the specific experience of navigating ableism as a Black woman challenges the whiteness of disability discourse. Every AI composition that reimagines futures where bodies like mine are centred rather than marginalised creates breathing room for possibilities beyond current limitations.

Sara Ahmed (2017, p. 15) describes the importance of making space through visibility:

“When we are not expected to be here, we are noticed. To be noticed is to be put under a spotlight; to be put under a spotlight feels like a constant judgment on whether you ticked all the boxes that are off the agenda precisely because they are on the agenda.”

By deliberately placing my body and experiences within public view through my art, I transform this uncomfortable spotlight into a stage for intentional performance. Rather than simply being noticed as an anomaly, I direct attention toward the systems that render certain bodies unexpected in particular spaces. The spotlight becomes a tool for illuminating structural barriers rather than a source of individual scrutiny.

Accessible presentation of my work forms another crucial dimension of my artistic activism. This means considering multiple access needs simultaneously: providing image descriptions that serve both blind audiences and neurodivergent individuals who process visual information differently; ensuring exhibition spaces accommodate wheelchair users; offering multiple formats (audio, visual, tactile) for engaging with poetry; considering sensory sensitivities in installation spaces.

Aimi Hamraie (2017, p. 21) explains this approach through the concept of “critical access studies”:

“Access-making is not merely technical, but also a form of critical praxis, a knowing-making that bends toward justice.”

Following Hamraie’s framework, my approach to accessibility is not simply about compliance with minimum standards but about reimagining what art spaces could be if designed from the outset with diverse bodies and minds at the centre. Each accessible exhibition becomes a prototype for more inclusive cultural institutions.

The digital elements of my practice—particularly AI-generated art—allow me to reach audiences beyond physical gallery spaces, creating virtual accessibility for those unable to attend in-person events due to geographic, financial, or disability-related barriers. This digital presence becomes especially vital for connecting with other disabled Black queer artists who may be similarly isolated within their local communities.

Alison Kafer (2013, p. 149) describes this connection through the concept of “crip futurity”:

“Rather than seeing disability as the end, or as the sign that the future has been exhausted or misused, crip futures can be reimagined, not in spite of disability but because of it.”

My mixed-media AI creations engage directly with this reimagining of futures, using technology to envision worlds where my intersectional identity is not a burden to overcome but a source of unique perspective and value. These digital spaces become temporary autonomous zones where we can experiment with more inclusive ways of being.

Intersectionality: Theoretical Framework for Lived Experience

My creative expression finds theoretical grounding in Kimberlé Crenshaw’s intersectionality theory, which provides crucial language for understanding how multiple aspects of identity create unique experiences of privilege and oppression. As a Black, bisexual, disabled, mature woman, I inhabit several marginalised identities simultaneously, creating experiences that cannot be understood by examining any single aspect in isolation.

Crenshaw (1989, p. 140) first articulated intersectionality to address the specific challenges faced by Black women:

“Because the intersectional experience is greater than the sum of racism and sexism, any analysis that does not take intersectionality into account cannot sufficiently address the particular manner in which Black women are subordinated.”

While Crenshaw’s initial focus was on the intersection of race and gender in legal discourse, scholars have since expanded the framework to encompass additional dimensions of identity, including disability, sexuality, class, and age (Collins and Bilge, 2020). This expanded understanding of intersectionality provides crucial insights into the multilayered barriers I navigate daily.

My portrait photography directly engages with intersectionality by challenging single-axis representations. When I photograph disabled Black women, including myself, I consciously work against both the whiteness of disability representation and the ableism of Black representation. Each image asserts our existence at the intersection, making visible what society often renders invisible.

In my poetry, intersectionality manifests through content and form. Themes explore the specific experiences created by my overlapping identities—how ableism manifests differently for Black women than white women, how homophobia takes unique forms in disabled communities, how ageism compounds other marginalisation. The structure of my poetry often reflects these intersections through techniques like layered voices, disrupted syntax, and polyphonic perspectives that resist linear interpretation.

Patricia Hill Collins (2019, p. 44) explains how creative expression becomes essential for articulating intersectional experience:

“For many marginalised populations, creative expression through music, writing, dancing, or other artistic forms provides an important medium for knowledge production.”

This observation validates my turn toward artistic practice as a legitimate method for producing knowledge about intersectional experience. My creative outputs are not merely expressions of personal catharsis but contributions to collective understanding about how multiple systems of oppression interlock and operate.

Through mixed-media AI art, I explore the technological dimensions of intersectionality. The algorithms that underpin AI art reproduce biases present in their training data, often struggling with diverse representation of Black bodies, disabled bodies, and other marginalised identities. By actively intervening in this process—curating inputs, adjusting parameters, and critically evaluating outputs—my practice becomes a site of resistance against technological erasure.

Why Intersectional Representation Matters

The fight for intersectional representation through my artistic activism is not simply about inclusion for inclusion’s sake. It addresses profound gaps in our collective understanding and imagination that have material consequences for people who share aspects of my identity. When we are not represented in cultural spaces, our needs remain unconsidered in policy decisions, our experiences invalidated in social discourse, and our potential contributions to society overlooked.

Moya Bailey and Trudy (2018, p. 763) coined the term “misogynoir” to describe “the specific hatred, dislike, distrust, and prejudice directed toward Black women.” This concept helps articulate how my artistic activism confronts not just general discrimination but targeted forms of oppression that arise from specific identity intersections. Each portrait of a Black disabled woman challenges misogynoir while simultaneously confronting ableism.

The absence of representation creates what Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2009) calls “the danger of a single story”—narratives so limited that they become not just incomplete but actively harmful. When disabled Black women appear only as objects of pity, inspiration, or medical curiosity, these restricted narratives shape how we are treated in healthcare settings, educational institutions, and workplaces.

Research by Vilissa Thompson (2018), founder of Ramp Your Voice! documents how disabled people of colour experience compounded discrimination in healthcare settings, often having symptoms dismissed or misdiagnosed due to stereotypes associated with both racial and disability status. My artistic activism creates visual evidence that challenges these stereotypes, presenting complex humanity where medical systems often see only collections of symptoms.

For young Black disabled people seeking role models, representation becomes even more crucial. As disability justice activist Leroy F. Moore Jr. (2017, p. 15) notes:

“The voices and histories of Black disabled people have been suppressed, and our contributions have been ignored, not just by mainstream society but also within both the Black community and the disability rights movement.”

By making my experiences visible through art, I create breadcrumbs for younger generations to follow—evidence that existence at these intersections is not only possible but can be generative, creative, and revolutionary. Each image, poem, or digital creation says: you are not alone in this experience.

Reclaiming Agency Through Creative Practice

Beyond theoretical alignment, my creative practices offer practical strategies for reclaiming agency in environments that consistently undermine it. When medical professionals dismiss my symptoms, educational institutions misinterpret my learning style, or social spaces penalise my neurodivergent communication, creative expression becomes a refuge where I set the terms of engagement.

Rosemarie Garland-Thomson (2005, p. 1568), a foundational scholar in disability studies, frames this dynamic through the concept of the stare:

“The stare is the gaze intensified, framing the disabled subject as an object of spectacle… The stared-at become hyper visible, while simultaneously being rendered invisible as subjects.”

Through portrait photography, I transform this dynamic by controlling who stares, for how long, and under what conditions. The camera becomes an instrument for redirecting the gaze, turning passive objectification into active self-representation. Each portrait asserts: I determine how I am seen.

In poetry, I reclaim language that has been used to pathologies and marginalise my experiences. Medical terminology, diagnostic criteria, and clinical assessments are repurposed as raw materials for verse, transformed from instruments of control into vehicles for self-expression. This linguistic reclamation challenges the authority of institutional discourse to define my reality.

Mixed-media AI art allows me to engage with emerging technologies on my own terms, rejecting the binary narrative that positions disabled people as either victims of technological exclusion or passive beneficiaries of assistive innovation. Instead, I position myself as a co-creator, collaborating with algorithms while maintaining critical awareness of their limitations and biases.

Conclusion: The Beauty of Difference and Creative Resistance

I stand now, not as a caterpillar waiting for wings, but as a being complete in my unique form. I no longer apologise for the space I occupy or the way my mind works. I recognise that my differences are not deficits—they are the source of my most valuable contributions, particularly in my creative practice and activism.

When your world has been a constant reminder that you are different, there comes a point where you must decide: Will you continue to shrink yourself to fit others’ expectations, or will you expand your sense of self to embrace all that you are?

I choose expansion. I choose to celebrate the mind that sees connections others miss, the heart that feels deeply in a world that often values emotional restraint, and the voice that may not always follow expected rhythms but speaks truths that need to be heard.

Art Credit: Complexities by Michi Masumi (Photographic-based Mixed Media) 2024

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