One of the guys on my floor is really cute and he was definitely flirting with me and he is 100% my type lord help me
Wow that was incredibly sad
I hate people who say sexuality is a choice like are you fucking kidding me if it was a choice I would be like fuck vagina so people wouldn’t give me weird ass looks
I don’t know what the fuck this “political lesbianism” is but from the shit I’VE seen said about it it seems like total bullshit like someone actually said (in relation to it) that queer identities are a choice like oh my god please shut the fuck up you absolute straight person.
You do not choose to be hated based on who you love. You do not choose to be ostracized by your family and loved ones. You don’t choose jack shit.
My roommate’s pretty chill, total partier but whatever, we all have that time in our lives and as long as she doesn’t bring alcohol into our room I don’t care because I just don’t want to get fired for her bullshit.
Ally, you are not silenced.
Ally, you are silent.
Ally, you sit silent as a guy in your class jokes about how hot bisexuals are, about how all bisexuals
(because we’re all women - as Dan Savage can attest to, bisexual men don’t exist and bisexuals beyond that binary are twice impossible, imaginary people)
…about how all bisexuals are really just straight, here for his entertainment, for his voyeurism, for his disgusting misogynistic sexual pleasure. But if he saw those same women from the porno he just climaxed to walking down the street holding hands, without a man in between them this time, he would spit at them. They’re deluded to think they could be happy without a man. They no longer exist for his pleasure.
That’s what he means; that’s what he said. And you, ally, say nothing.
Or that time last week when your buddies were laughing about how “mannish” that woman down the street is, about her big hands, her low voice… is that an Adam’s Apple? It’s all in good fun, making fun of ‘him’ you think, but what you don’t know is that she cries herself to sleep some nights remembering the night she saw her friend killed, the night she ran, the night she had it imprinted into her skull that nowhere was safe, no one was invincible, that life as a trans woman with kinky hair and a Spanish name might be shorter than it should be.
She’s paying for her transition with money she doesn’t have - pumping her breasts on the street and finding estrogen where she can get it, always aware of the dangers of street hormones but also aware that the wider her jaw stays, the bulkier her figure, the more likely she is to be clocked, to be revealed at the wrong time in the wrong place, the more likely to end up like her friend, body left to rot by the man who found her so offensive, so wrong that he didn’t even need a weapon to end her life, end her dream. He used his bare fists.
She doesn’t want to end up an obituary mourning the person she’s not, the name and pronoun she gave her life to escape from, so she grits her teeth and swallows the pills, inserts the needle.
No, she’s not only paying money to transition; she’s paying with years - DECADES off her life expectancy.
And you, ally, you taunted her, her with the wisps of her hair still visible on her chin. You’d better hope that the man standing behind you was too far to hear, better hope he won’t find your neighbor and wring her neck, shouting the same words your friends were whispering with knowing smirks.
You’d better hope not, because you wouldn’t want to live with the guilt.
Nevermind that she’ll never smile again, never laugh, never sing.
You call yourself ally, wear a rainbow button with pride (but you’re not gay, as you remind anyone within earshot. straight. you’re straight! but not narrow. but straight. you’re straight.)
You turn up the radio every time Macklemore comes on, roll down the windows, shout “LOVE IS LOVE” at the queer couple walking down the street, who shudder after you pass, looking around and hoping no one noticed - they’re not out and can’t afford to be.
You’re an ally because you think everyone should be able to be who they are, and yet you roll your eyes every time a celebrity comes out of the closet - Who cares? Why such an obsession with labels? Why does it even matter?
You see, ally, you are not silenced. You don’t know that feeling of terror that surrounds the revelation of self truth, the feeling of saying
I’m queer I’m gay I’m bi I’m trans I’m nonbinary I’m asexual I’m pansexual I’m grey-aromantic
You don’t know what it means to answer questions about when you’re going to find a wife when your boyfriend is sitting right next to you, introduced as your roommate.
You’ve never messed up your bladder because there is no bathroom for you to use.
No, you are not silenced. And what’s more, you are no ally of mine. That word is not an identity you can claim for yourself, not an excuse to ask invasive questions or to speak over my voice.
That word is a responsibility. That word is not a compliment, not a praise, but an expectation, and you, Oh Silent One, you’re not living up to it.
The important thing to remember about self-respect is that it’s respect YOU have for YOURSELF. read: no one else’s opinion matters.