In general, my bi friends understand the alienation, erasure and self-doubt that comes with being bisexual in a “can’t you just pick one” world. By seeing and believing each other’s negative experiences, we help each other reduce the harm of those things.
“I’m done putting my faith in well-meaning surrogates. That’s not enough now, and it never really was.”
The women I kiss like to drink red wine, and I drink them in. I taste red wine and I move past it; my deliverance lies elsewhere.
Sometimes living with other people, even loved ones, can prevent you from doing the things your heart really wants — like being completely naked in your living room or kitchen, for example.
We all have periods of time in our lives when we find ourselves conforming to an identity or a style that isn’t quite… us.
“I decided to make lobster bisque for my mom at the same moment I decided to come out to her. Only one of those things went according to plan.”
What does it mean to be queer and a sex worker at Skirt Club?
“I couldn’t afford to go home, but it was common knowledge among the many international students that, technically, one could remain in the country beyond the visa validity period as long as you were still enrolled in school. So I did.”
If I and other people with certain disabilities are going to survive, we need care — and not from ourselves. Because when it gets really bad for me, self-care is literally impossible. In those moments, I need community care.
“They were a union organizer and liked to throw themed parties (for example: Naked Brunch). One time I bought Gap jeans and they called me a capitalist pig dog. They were not wrong.”
Do you ever wish you could travel back in time and scream at your younger self to open their eyes?
“The conference serves as a portal to collective dreaming and scheming where barriers become bridges to a more just future.”
“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.”
“I thought changing something on the outside would change the wrecked ruin of me on the inside. I thought somehow the inside would get a memo from my outside and get into shape. It didn’t, but my hair is the first way I was able to gain autonomy over my body.”
On Easter Sunday, I didn’t go to a church, but I quietly praised God at brunch in community with friends and strangers and so many carbs and those tiny Cadbury chocolate eggs.
Straight fanfiction? I don’t know her.
Relax, it’s Friday. Enjoy some dog content.
I am not white, and I don’t particularly want white kids. I definitely do not want to pay for white sperm.
Vanessa is thru-hiking the Pacific Crest Trail this summer and she’s taking us with her! Follow along as she walks 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada.