lgbtq

The letters LGBTQ are just another way of saying that Love is Love.

Part IV
I remember sobriety. It was a clear and productive time for me. It consisted of tears and writing and introspection and reading. Despite relapsing after a few months, my life drastically improved. I don’t do the drugs I used to, besides weed and the occasional drink. I regularly write inventories of myself and my actions to keep tabs on my mental health and addiction problems. I don’t know if I’ll ever be “clean” again, but I do know that drugs do not have the hold on me like they used to. The most I do now is smoke a bowl or a blunt and maybe have a drink with dinner. Arguably, my weed issues are more significant than any other drug problem I have, but it is far less disruptive to my life than the other drugs I introduced. Harm reduction, right?
By kp3 years ago in Humans
Part III
It was “locker room talk” with the boys. I waited until I was older and already out of the closet to have sex, but it was hard to stop once I did. I built quite a reputation for myself in that small town quickly. I collected partners like trinkets and talked about them the same. My male friends asked wildly inappropriate questions ranging from the deeply personal to the fetishizing and obscure. I answered them all. The question, “did you scissor” was usually accompanied by vigorously and repeatedly ramming together the space between the middle and index fingers while maintaining uncomfortably prolonged eye contact. Sometimes they didn’t say a word at all, just gestured.
By kp3 years ago in Humans
Part II
My childhood was a performance, a parade of behaviors within the confines of a gender binary. I can easily say I played like a boy. I imagined myself as male in many of my fantasies. I never minded playing females so long as they were like Lara Croft or Alex Munday, but this may have stemmed as much from a sexual attraction to Angelina Jolie and Lucy Liu as it did a desire to be like them. For the most part, I imagined myself as some hybrid force, a superhuman possessing the qualities I found most appealing to the feminine and masculine. I stormed trees teeming with spies, besting them with my wits and their weapons, a cross between Croft and Chan.
By kp3 years ago in Humans
Part I
Blue eyes determined my gender. I was a little boy until adults got a close look at my “baby blues and long lashes” and decided I was a girl. My gender switched so much when I was a child. Perhaps it’s why I refuse to pick one now. I never protested when people called me a boy. I never felt my gender was important enough to lay claim to a side like war, a battle waged for centuries that no one wins.
By kp3 years ago in Humans
The Road to Conscious Love
Hello! Welcome to my journey in awakening to the fullness of the human experience and unraveling the truths behind what is love actually. My name is Princess Leah Melita Jael I. Tafari; but I usually go by Leah Jael. It's easier for people to grasp, whereas when I introduce myself as Princess Leah, most people repeat it back to confirm if I'm being serious or joking. They then continue with the most original questions, "Are your parents Star Wars fans?" and "Are you really a Princess?"
By Princess Leah3 years ago in Humans
Queer Shit
The micro-aggressions faced by the LGBTQIA+ community are constant and vast, so I lend you some of my favorite responses to some of the vilest remarks and invasive questions that one may receive. These responses are meant to be as ridiculous as the questions posed. They are not meant to teach anything except that maybe someone shouldn’t be asking these questions in the first place.
By kp3 years ago in Humans
No Moore Power …
I don’t post about politics here; I dabble in my poetry. Honestly, I haven’t truly participated in political activism since I was arrested with the Reverend Barber during NC’s Moral Monday marches, which occurred long before “Trump’s America” took hold and began unraveling democracy one frayed thread at a time. I left the fight long ago.
By Stacey Mataxis Whitlow (SMW)3 years ago in Humans
Her.
Part #1 I was kneeling by a medical bed. The white sheets stretched out and tied along freshly cut wood. The whole tent smelled of vegetation, moist earth, and sickness. My knees ached on white sheets as I fixed the mangled tubes connecting my patient to an oxygen tank. I had just arrived two weeks ago, and my inexperience still made my fingers shake. I didn't want them to – I'd look at them, and everything in my mind was screaming for them to stop, to quiet down. The more inexperienced you look here, the more stress you notice, culminating in the already humid air. There is a feeling I remember getting a lot as a child and something I was aware of at that moment. It's the feeling of having the entire world staring at you struggling to do something simple. It's not judgment but the jumping in to replace you that's pending – It's the space between accomplishing it and having someone take over – a waiting period that splits your reality and something that could induce enough anxiety in me to blur my vision. My fingers were fumbling around with the tubes, and everything became less clear – it was happening. I don't know what possessed me at that moment, but I looked up. Maybe it was that primal instinct of prey being watched by predators. The way a deer will look up at a cougar in its final moments. Or perhaps I could feel your gaze reaching towards me in comfort as if telepathically, you could clear the clutter in my mind and stop the shaking. Your eyes were dark, I wasn't sure if I could melt into them or fall into their endlessness, but either was soothing. Your gaze wasn't judgemental, but it was knowing. It looked at me kneeling on the ground, tubes all around me by the makeshift bed with a woman's rapid rhythmic breaths counting down the seconds I had to connect everything. It saw me in the mess of it all. In the turmoil of my black curls as they snuck out of my bun and framed my sweaty face, that gaze recognized me. Maybe that's all I needed; to be seen. My hands were steady as I connected the tubes to the tank and helped my patient slip on the mask. The woman's thin ribcage steadily slowed into deeper breaths while I eased my breathing along with hers.
By Alma 3 years ago in Humans
She Wanted a Rainbow Party
She wanted a Rainbow Themed Birthday Party We were ready to give her the best Rainbow Party a girl could ask for. It took all day to create her Rainbow-Colored Backdrop which consisted of streamers with seven different colours attached to cardboard and then attached to the wall outside for photos.
By SUZETTE DRUMMONDS3 years ago in Humans
Feminism
"Feminism is the radical notion that women are people." - Marie Shear (1986) As a white american cis-male from the middle class, my voice is probably not the one you most want to be hearing right now. In baseball terms, I've already got my three strikes, plus one, even if you're being generous. If that's the case, and you're not familiar with her, check out Marie's wiki page linked above, and run with it.
By Kenneth Young3 years ago in Humans
dare to change?
November 21st, 2022 It’s the day after our fourth-year anniversary and I thought the confusion would have passed by now. I thought that the shadows of summer would be now under feet of snow, that they would only resurface when the ice melted again. But I was wrong, the shadows came back faster than I had wished.
By Ms. Rodwell3 years ago in Humans
Walls
Once upon a time you lived inside my head, now just a memory I feel for you instead. Hallow as night you build your guard, only to give hints at who you truly are. So many walls that you care to admit, fear and shame is what doesn’t let you give in. You value yourself to the point of arrogance, give no ish unless to educate or care for someone indefinite.
By The Kind Quill3 years ago in Humans