Results for: no fucks to give
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The Lunar New Year Coming Out Letter I’ll Never Send To My Mom
I’m not coming out to you as a lesbian, umma, I’m coming out as your daughter. I’m tired of being a stranger to you and I’m tired of tripping over boxes in my living room because you’re incapable of just being vulnerable with me.
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That One Time The Patriarchy Blessed Me
“I loved the Church, and I loved the gospel. I was the kind of Mormon who politely dismissed myself from classrooms when teachers showed R-rated movies. At my first and only high school rager, I texted my mother to pick me up because I felt out of place amidst the drinking and smoking. That was me, Straight-Edge Dera, except apparently I wasn’t so straight.”
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Line Breaks for Resistance: How Black Poetry Lets Us Rescue Ourselves
If Alice Walker once said “hard times require furious dancing,” then hard times call for reading poetry, particularly black poets. Follow zaynab’s journey in reconnecting with black poetry as a means of daily survival and understand why reading the work of black poets can enhance our collective understandings of what it means to cultivate and sustain resistance.
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Mama Outsider: How I Learned the Definition of Obscene
“I was unstable and grieving and more suited for a patient friendship than the dramas of new love. But I loved her and in thirst, I acted unlovingly by climbing into a lap in which I wasn’t welcome. My behavior is the definition of obscene.”
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Mama Outsider: No Place Like Home
“Every day since my father died has been at least a little fucked up. There is no such thing as a non-fucked up day when you are a Daddy’s girl without a father.”
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I Need Justice, I Need Peace: A QTPOC Roundtable
It felt important for us to have a voice somewhere, so we’ve gathered a few of the Black queer voices and put them together here. We want to offer this as a place of healing for QTPOC in this time of tragedy.
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Broad City, Ilana and Space Enough for Bothness
I remember the day I found out that Ilana from Broad City wasn’t biracial. I Googled around until I found evidence that there were others like me: biracial girls who felt a little bit incredulous; just a hair shy of betrayed. To this day I haven’t been able to convince whatever part of my brain that initially projected that identity onto her to unclench.
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Taco Tuesday: Finding Home Again
In the very first edition of a biweekly column all about tacos, Yvonne writes about her personal connection to the delicious, Mexican super food and her search for damn good tacos far away from home.
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A Queer African Tale: On Trauma, Gender Transitions and Acceptance
“Dating broken white women became a way to reprise a powerlessness that years of sexual abuse and generations of blackphobia had tricked me into believing in. I drowned this feeling of powerlessness in weed and seeking out relationships in which I could engage in yet remain completely hidden from view.”
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Getting Cruised In the Heights
“Who are these men noticing me? Who are these men giving me the long, soft stare, eyes holding mine like they got something for me, something they can’t talk about, something only eyes can pass along. Who are these men whispering ‘hi, papi’ to me? I don’t think I look more male today than I did yesterday.”
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Because I’m Black, Too
“That risks making a wound of my blackness. My blackness is not a wound; it is a gift I’m trying, consciously and earnestly, to understand and protect and witness.”
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The Ersatz Emancipation of Femininity: On Being a Bulimic, Brown Lesbian
“When I was thirteen years old I began starving myself. I did so, in short, because I wanted so desperately to be thin. And by thin, I mainly meant white.”
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Fat-Booty Butch Wears Leggings — Confuses World, Confronts Self
“Form-fitting feels different than tailored and my form is something I’m super protective of — so why the fuck did I decide to wear leggings today?”
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I’m Not Broke As F*ck Anymore, Does This Mean I Made It
“It’s like you’re so good at your weird, low-cost lifestyle, but you know nothing about the real world.”
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Butch Glam: Let’s Broaden What “Black” In Relation to “Female” Can Mean
I am not crazy; I am simply black, and queer, and butch, and transcultural, and therefore alone.
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Dust to Dark: The Colors of My Craziness
“It’s on my twenty-fourth birthday that I realize something is wrong. I wake up crying and I don’t stop.”
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Five Small Contributions: On Being A Queer Person of Color
We wanted to sit down and share stories with you around this virtual campfire to somehow express one little piece of what it means to be queer and a person of color in this crazy, crazy world.
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For Femmes Of Colour Who Rose Too Early & Set Too Soon
“It is possible to protest misogyny with my legs spread wide open and I am going to just that.”