Okay, when I go to Sapphic Night at the gay bar, why don’t I hear any MUNA? Where’s the FLETCHER? girli? Janelle Monáe? Zolita? Heck, where’s Chappell Roan? WHY ARE WE NOT HOT TO GO!?
Loving Myself Is Hard The Way Grasping The Wind Is Hard
#ThingsYouCantUnsay
Sorry, cute young soft butch girl; it was really impressive the way you worked up the courage to ask for my number outside the club. I doubt you have any idea how close you came to watching calamity unfold in your bedroom.
I’m so easy to love.
I am so far from loving myself.
I love myself so much.
I don’t love myself enough to hold on to myself.
I sold to others a sealed box full of my love for myself the moment I had the chance.
I didn’t love myself enough to notice.
And each time, when I finally figured out what I’d lost and where it had gone, I hesitated to love myself enough to save myself.
But I love myself enough to save myself.
I love myself enough to leave others bleeding when I come to reclaim my self-love.
I love myself enough that gutting others causes me profound sadness.
I love myself enough to be sad.
I don’t know how to adequately express my mixture of sorrow and self-acceptance.
It’s not an apology for the bleeding.
It’s an apology for not loving myself enough in the first place.
It sounds so selfish.
I guess the selfish part was seeking others’ love to substitute for the love I wasn’t giving myself.
Sorry for the things I did when I didn’t love myself enough.
I hope one day I’ll love myself so much, I can love others without forgetting to love myself.
When I love others, it feels like the foreplay of giving myself away.
I don’t want to give myself away.
Fuck, loving myself is hard the way grasping the wind is hard.
Loving myself is glorious the way matching my body to a crowd and a moment and a rhythm is fleeting and perfect and glorious.
If I could tell you how, I would.
If I could remember how, I would.
I’ll keep dancing.
I’ll keep trying to love myself.
Maybe my body knows how.
Maybe I can ask her.
I wish trans people sucked
#ThingsYouCantUnsay
I wish trans people sucked.
I wish that when you thought about trans people, the default reaction was, “they’re so basic. There’s nothing interesting about them.”
I wish we generally lived boring lives, wake up, do our part for the community we live in, care for our families, maybe do a bit of work, make a really boring dinner, bed early.
I wish you knew so many trans people that when someone new came out as trans, your spouse turned to you with a bored expression and asked if they should order your usual coming-out gift for trans people. In the same way as you have a signature baby-shower gift.
I wish trans people were not, generally, some of the most interesting, vibrant, resourceful, creative, determined, self-aware, clear-eyed, insightful, caring, and kind people you know.
I wish we didn’t have to be all those things to have a chance to survive. I wish that accepting ourselves and coming out was not a gauntlet that leaves all but a random fraction of the most amazing of us to die, our truths snuffed out unacknowledged.
I wish we didn’t need to be the best of the best, just to make it far enough to see the light through a crack in the closet door.
Goddess, I wish trans people sucked.
Hi cis people! It’s Trans Day Of Visibility, or TDOV for short, and today, I’d like my words to be visible.
Please read these short essays:
This one is about how to be an ally:
Please boost them. Please write short posts linking here and to other trans people’s writings, encouraging your friends to read what we have to say. Sharing the words of trans people is how you help us be seen. It’s how you help stop the genocide against us. Please help, while we are still here to appreciate it.
Please remember, more trans people will be born. They’ll be your children and grandchildren. They’ll learn our history. And they’ll learn what you did or didn’t do, when we needed you.
Love, Willow
#Trans #TDOV #TransDayOfVisibility #Boost
Between all the relationship growing and relationship healing and stuff, I’ve forgotten to take care of me. My intestines are flaring. My joints hurt. My muscles feel like wet noodles. I haven’t sat quietly with myself in too long.
