In New York, every time you step out your door, human interaction is offered to you. The most magical thing about New York, about “High Maintenance,” about life has suddenly become a danger.
11 poems of varying lengths that you can read to your lesbian lover with that expensive wood wick candle flickering on the bedside table.
One place that I have found comfort before and continue to find it now is in poetry, the words of others who have experienced and seen unspeakable things and come out on the other side. I hope you can find some comfort in them, too.
Three weeks ago I began my Coronavirus self-quarantine. Faced with the reality that I wouldn’t see anyone, I started an experiment. I wasn’t going to shave, paint my nails, or put on makeup — until I wanted to, for myself.
Once I was out of an emotionally and sexually abusive queer relationship, I realized how lesbian memes can support unhealthy relationship dynamics. U-hauling and codependency didn’t feel like a joke anymore. I had to unfollow lesbian meme accounts to heal and learn new ways to approach queer love.
I pray that all my little trans sisters receive this love, this support and that more broadly in the black community we can make sure all of our children grow in love and kindness.
“She admired my tits like only someone else on estrogen could and then she grabbed them harder than anyone had before.”
It was like saving a seat on the bus for someone who routinely happened to never show up. It was like setting the table for someone who decided to eat an hour before coming over for dinner.
In many ways, the deluge of hilarious, shitty, and hilariously shitty roommates I survived all offered the same thing: an excuse to not have to face myself.
“Many creatives still have reservations and fears around medication as they believe that it will dampen the creative flow, turn off the magic, or make them less able to connect with the emotion they are trying to convey. This misconception is dismantled in Erlichman’s poetry, she’s sharp and precise while illustrating the often untethered emotion that comes with mania or psychosis.”
In QTPOC community, the future can feel precarious. If queerness is so often associated with action and survival, how do we learn to slow down and rest so we can live long enough to grow into the queer elders we always dreamed of having?
Four years ago I did the switch from wanting “good hair” to wanting “healthy hair” and went completely natural. This photoessay is a ride of twists and bumped bangs, but I promise it’s a good one. And before you ask: No, I am not tenderheaded.
Being bisexual is lit.
“I aspire to be described as terrible and lovely.”
Throughout its eight episodes Work in Progress showed the value in being there for people even when it’s hard – and the importance of knowing when to walk away.
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.
I’m not sure I am any of the things that the aunties here tell me I am: Good. Hindu. Girl. I’m not sure about a lot of things these days. But I’ve found a way to care for myself that keeps me alive.
“I think what she articulated for me that nobody else had done quite so well was that it was possible to be very smart, intellectually, while also feeling very stupid, emotionally.”
Someone once told me that if you’re Asian American, or mixed, or whatever, you have a grandmother poem in you that you need to write. This is mine.
The most remarkable thing about Gerwig’s film isn’t that it leaves room for queerness – it’s that it leaves room for sadness.