I saw this pigeon on Muharram symbols once. Quiet. Heavy. Sacred. And something about it just stayed in my body. So I put it on a pole. Pole dance has always been my way of reclaiming things — religion, masculinity, fatness, softness, devotion — and turning them into movement, sweat, balance, desire. This is me dancing with what I grew up seeing. Faith as a body. Ritual as a spin. A pigeon that doesn’t fly away — it dances. Nothing disrespectful. Just very, very queer. 🖤