Maybe I was tired of hiding and being afraid. Maybe I was just overheating and my nipples were starting to chafe. Maybe it was all or none of the above.
David Wojnarowicz captured the chaos of living as a gay man in the 1980s and early 1990s with HIV overshadowing everything we did and felt.
Before testosterone, few people ever saw me cry. Now tears come in hot floods, as though some tender, unlanguaged creature has surfaced inside me.
Madison Montgomery never stops performing. She is at once person and persona.
The land that was previously seen as harsh and brutal by colonial forces was actually a site of survival, new life, and renewal.
The taste of silence and salt heavy on my tongue.
I knew about Matt’s legacy, but I didn’t know much about his life.
Can you still hear us? We’re drowning the state in our chirps tonight if you’d care to sing along.
The years I suppressed my queerness are a loss that I’m exploring and grieving—if only through fiction.
Obviously, I cannot be the old woman. Obviously, I cannot be the woman.