I tried to lead restorative justice in my own sexually abusive (former) t4t relationship. I did this because I am an abolitionist and know people are more than the worst things they do. What I didn’t know at the time: we should have not been the ones to facilitate the process. With leftist language co-opted, I didn’t know I was allowed to leave; I didn’t know I was allowed to have boundaries.
“I spent years not thinking about my penis — or, at least, thinking about it as little as possible. After I transitioned, my penis became the most important part of my body — at least, to other people.”
“Our wedding plans went on hold when I found myself unable to get out of bed.”
I hid behind instruments, computers, Whitney’s voice, Prince’s guitar. I sat in front of my computer surrounded by cassettes, illegally downloading songs, awkwardly whispering “I love you more than I know how to explain and I’m scared so here’s a mixtape I made you.”
“Through frank conversations with cross country mates and cheeky hints in coming-of-age films, I learned that masturbation is something people do to their vaginas with fingers, shower heads and (though I often doubted it) hairbrush handles. I intrinsically knew that what happened when I pressed my thighs together and held my breath was masturbation, too, but as my Encyclopedia of Wank expanded with no reflection of my own methods, it became clear that I was missing a fundamental element of jerking off.”
The thing about miscarriage is that the word itself does no justice to the great tragedy that it is. There are very few things I know anymore, but I do know this: Birdie will always be a part of our Hanukkah story.
“People were always so impressed that you didn’t leave me, but your gift wasn’t staying — it was seeing. Most people don’t get to transition under the pansexual gaze of someone who loves them the way you loved me.”
If you have ever met a mountain, you know that can’t nobody really own a mountain because they are too majestic, too strong, too beautiful to be tamed or owned. So I guess mountains are kinda like Black folk.
COVID-19 turned our relationship long-distance. We’re getting through it with Jane Austen and love letters.
On the 24th day of quarantine, I turned on all of the lamps in my room and took off all my clothes. Then I stood in front of the mirror and stared.
The first time I took care of COVID patients, I felt helpless. I’d lost access to my purpose, to my spiritual practice that lives within deeply connecting to my patients. I felt undeserving of human connection. I’d become a “dirty” nurse.
“Do you think he’ll notice if I just never come out of the bathroom?”
“A cultural exchange from a person with a prostate to those without.”
Often, use of makeup, especially as a way to cover up perceived flaws, is seen as a symptom of body dysmorphic disorder. But for me, using makeup is not a way to hide what I look like. Instead, it’s a way for me to be seen.
The first draft of The Ship We Built was intended as a valentine for one person. Six and a half years later, The Ship We Built has been released as a novel with Penguin Random House and continues to be a valentine – now for anybody who picks it up.
Every asexual person has a moment when the recognition sets in. Those moments would come a lot easier if asexuality was more prominent in pop culture.
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?
Growing up in fandom, I gathered a long list of straight fictional ships without realizing until much later that I had been projecting myself onto the male half of those ships.
“There. She. Is.” Glennon wrote in her new memoir, Untamed, when she recalled the moment Abby Wambach entered her life. I assumed that would be the central conflict of Untamed. And in some ways it is — but not the ways I expected.
My chest continued to breathe new life, even when I was no longer alone. Physical affinity suddenly cropped up in corners I never anticipated.
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.