It seems contradictory to say I learned how to view my body as my own by sharing it with strangers and friends, but it is a truth that I revel in. What I love and learn about these encounters are the parameters of my body, its strengths, and boundaries, what pleases it.
Is a soft butch a soft butch if she can barely hold even herself together? Is a soft butch a soft butch without her swagger?
Can two switches have sex? I think so, and I think there is something beautifully different about having sex with someone with whom sexual options are truly abundant.
There is a different level of intimacy and affirmation that I have found when having sex with other fat people. Thin people approach the fat body like a series of insecurities. They see the swell of a stomach or rolls of fat on the back and assume that you hate those parts of your body. When another fat person touches me, it is to be made whole.
Four scenes from my life as a trans femme.
Law and Order: SVU presents Olivia Benson as a savior of survivors, and as a kid she was my hero. Later, I came to acknowledge that the cops cannot, will not, and do not want to save us — they’re harmful and unnecessary.
My chest continued to breathe new life, even when I was no longer alone. Physical affinity suddenly cropped up in corners I never anticipated.
Narratives of violence and abuse are so familiar in our history and culture that we hardly notice them. Corinne Manning shares what it took to notice and transform these narratives in their own fiction and their story collection, We Had No Rules.
A young black queer girl goes to her first pride parade, tackles her fears of her own queerness rooted in acceptance, and becomes friends with other black queer people after the death of her parents.
Maybe, she finds herself thinking, there could be space for joy in this new life. Maybe, she dreams, as she finishes the last page and immediately starts the book over again, this is not so hopeless after all.
I was always thinking about them — what I’d bring, what I’d wear, what we’d do when we saw each other next. I wanted to dote and caress every moment of every day. I was willing to do damn near anything for them. I was consumed by what I can only term “I want to buy you a matte black Audi” energy.
To me, magic means resilience and connecting to ancestors who survived the tragedy of the Middle Passage. Magic runs through my veins and feels like my birthright. It’s stronger than white supremacy will ever be.
I know that collective care is the future because it has made my past and present possible. We must acknowledge that mutual aid is not original—or optional—for chronically dispossessed people and therefore, always already political.
My white queer friends don’t know why it’s such a big deal for them to not do any of the stupid and obviously illegal things they tend to do if I’m the one behind the wheel.
Friends and family lovingly called him Tony the Tiger and recalled that he was big hearted. Tony is not the perfect victim — no Black person is in this nation’s eyes. So again and again I add #BlackTransLivesMatter to every post and plea I make.
We cold-called and emailed hundreds of places, heart in mouth, praying for someone to be generous. And people came through, offering gloves, masks, and more.
White supremacy thrives off of keeping us obsessed with respectability, when there is nothing respectable about kneeling on a man’s neck while he cries for his life. There is a time for everything, and right now is a time for rage.
In a time where Black people are experiencing new and old collective trauma whenever they scroll through Instagram, please stop asking us if we’re okay. We are not.
“Nobody may come to help us in time; we are all we’ve got. We need to organize, quickly, online, and geographically.”
All people deserve the right to continue their education regardless of their ability to sit in a physical classroom. Accessibility should never determine a child’s ability to learn.