To be a queer teenager is to exist in a vacuum. We are cautioned of a darker time just a decade or so ago when, by the popular telling of it, openly queer Americans seemingly didn’t exist. We are so often reminded of how quickly the world changed, and how lucky we are to live in the present, that it often feels like we are a new phenomenon.
Of course this isn’t true; the freedoms that LGBTQ+ Americans enjoy today were made possible only because of queer activists who spent decades fashioning a disparate social identity into a vocal, proud community. But how many of us can name them?
When we don’t grow up learning this history, our only point of reference for what it means to be queer in the U.S. becomes the ever-complicated present. There is something deeply isolating in that. History is a mirror. Every person looks to the past to find those exceptional people who have altered their way of life, who validate both their distinct identities and their ability to change the world. Discovering your heroes, no matter who you are, is an act of hope.
What We Lose When We Don’t Teach LGBTQ History In Schools | Michael Waters for The Establishment
(via gaywrites)
She wanted to say I love you like a thunderstorm, like a lion, like a helpless rage…
Ken Follett, The Pillars of the Earth (via thelovejournals)
(Source: thelovejournals)
It is the exception that interests the devil.
Sylvia Plath, from The Complete Poems: “Three Women; A Poem in Three Voices”
(via violentwavesofemotion)
me: I'm going to listen to classical music so I don't get distracted while I do homework
me: *looks up scores*
me: *reads about composer*
me: *dances at desk*
me: *pretends to conduct*
The day I was born a siren spoke for the first time, she said you will send them all to us
with their heads still on.
She told me I was a language ready to be learned. A nest of folklore that has gathered itself
for the girl children. A pirate ship: the crew, the jewels, the dead things. The sea air bloated
with its own salt
The hot laughing rum. Its tears. The walking of the plank. The anchors made
of shark teeth and mirrors.
Siaara Freeman, “Urban Girl & the Origin Story,” published in Milk Journal (via bostonpoetryslam)
we stayed up / practiced saying / girl / girl / girl / girl / til our mouths grew soft / yes / i can speak / your language / i broke in / that horse / myself //
Franny Choi, “Turing Test,” featured by the Poetry Society (via bostonpoetryslam)
I LAUGHED OUT LOUD WHEN I READ THIS ONE
Seriously though I can totally see this happening
