This Is Me Trying To Be Brave

I didn’t only want Louise’s flesh, I wanted her bones, her blood, her tissues, the sinews that bound her together. I would have held her to me though time had stripped away the tones and textures of her skin. I could have held her for a thousand years until the skeleton itself rubbed away to dust. What are you that makes me feel thus? Who are you for whom time has no meaning?
In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun. This place will warm me, feed me and care for me. I will hold on to this pulse against other rhythms. The world will come and go in the tide for a day but here is her hand with my future in its palm.
She said, ‘Come upstairs.’

—Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson (via attheendofthesky)

(via possibilistfanfiction)

I, along with other trans* folk, face a host of microagressions in my everyday life. In any given day I’m misgendered by friends, family, and strangers alike up to a dozen times. I get uncomfortable looks in the bathroom and other gendered spaces, looks that question whether I belong. I’ve been the punchline of jokes in television, film, and standup comedy where the absolute most horrifying to happen to a straight man on a date is for it to be revealed that the woman he’s courting has a penis.
After a while these sorts of things wear you down. You forget that there’s such a thing as safe spaces, as a possibility for a world where all of this isn’t simply the way of things. I’ve internalized all of this marginalization so deeply that, when my professor said to the class, “those of you who engage in heterosexual sex have to worry about contraception and pregnancy,” I didn’t initially see anything wrong with the statement. It was only later that I realized: I was in same-gender relationships with other women, but we still had to worry about contraception and pregnancy during sex. In that moment, I had forgotten that I existed.

—

enasmathematikos (via punkrocklibrarian)

Please. Out of the things I reblog, please read this, followers. It’s so incredibly true.

(via prettydeadgrrrl)

(Source: regularmathematikos, via planesandtrainstoyou)

Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.

—Andrea Gibson (via anoceansizelove)

(Source: lucyelderflower, via carpediemtimes365)