Two days ago I did something that terrified me. I joined the open mic at a reading where everyone in the room was starkers. Krissy Kneen, a friend and an author I’ve long admired, was the feature reader. I was one of the last to get up on the open mic—everyone was being so brave, reading about pain, love, loss, sex, self-harm, sickness, and blue juices (Krissy, there), so I thought: do it. Fuck, why not? As David Stavanger said, standing there in the buff, ‘Look at us, we’re just meat.’ It was intimate and warm and uncomfortable and sweaty and beautiful. I read about Anthony Perkins, who was always hiding something. I had slicks of sweat under my arms. I was shaking. People were all shapes, with scars, fat, tattoos, and different lengths and colours of pubes. Krissy encouraged us to drink it all in, to think about each other later. I’m so glad I went. I highly recommend (safely) doing something that scares the shit out of you. Thank you Queensland Poetry Fest, for having me along as an artist, but also for providing this unique opportunity to get raw with some beautiful hunks of flesh.