I hope all you tender queers out there can be as sweet with yourselves as you are with the other important people in your lives today.
Stroke your cheek and wipe away your tears as softly as you’ve done for them.
When you’re thinking about your soft places, I hope you honor your hurt and appreciate your vulnerability.
I hope you can see through the world’s vicious lies and be the person you need today.
hi thnx so much for this really sweet message, it made my day. i’m glad something that i made resonated with you! xoxox <3<3<3
Empathy isn’t just something that happens to us—a meteor shower of synapses firing across the brain—it’s also a choice we make: to pay attention, to extend ourselves. It’s made of exertion, that dowdier cousin of impulse. Sometimes we care for another because we know we should, or because it’s asked for, but this doesn’t make our caring hollow. The act of choosing simply means we’ve committed ourselves to a set of behaviors greater than the sum of our individual inclinations: I will listen to his sadness, even when I’m deep in my own. To say ‘going through the motions’—this isn’t reduction so much as acknowledgment of the effort—the labor, the motions, the dance—of getting inside another person’s state of heart or mind.
This confession of effort chafes against the notion that empathy should always arise unbidden, that genuine means the same thing as unwilled, that intentionality is the enemy of love. But I believe in intention and I believe in work. I believe in waking up in the middle of the night and packing our bags and leaving our worst selves for our better ones."
— Leslie Jamison, “The Empathy Exams” (via The Believer)
two weeks ago, i drank a whiskey and my friend’s roommate tattooed a gay ghost on the inside of my right ankle.
in my dream, the ink starts to seep out of my skin and change shape. it grows into something i don’t recognize.
i’m all body and i’m not a body at all. the truth is a slippery thing. it slides out of place like my ribs dislocate. my chest aches, my back is sore.
the dryness of the air makes my nose bleed and my skin crack.
in the morning, my friend makes me breakfast: kale and eggs. i wonder when it will stop snowing.
"Of course, this is one of the profound ways in which oppression works—to mire us in body hatred. Homophobia is all about defining queer bodies as wrong, perverse, immoral. Transphobia, about defining trans bodies as unnatural, monstrous, or the product of delusion. Ableism, about defining disabled bodies as broken and tragic. Class warfare, about defining the bodies of workers as expendable. Racism, about defining the bodies of people of color as primitive, exotic, or worthless. Sexism, about defining female bodies as pliable objects. These messages sink beneath our skin."
— Eli Clare, “Stolen Bodies, Reclaimed Bodies” (via genderqueer)
"Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive."
— Hafiz (via brgrjoint)
I’m not even a boat
I’m where a boat
I put my impossible
body in your hands
is this a pen
—“computer,” eileen myles in snowflake/different streets