i used to be a little girl. and now i’m not. and that’s good. that’s important.
but the thing is. is that i’ll never be her again. can’t, won’t, will never. wouldn’t want to, anyway.
but the other thing is, i keep all her favourite books on my bottom shelf. and i have her stuffed animals on the foot of my bed, still. and i sleep in her room, every night. and i look at the pink walls, at the colour she chose, and i think of repainting and i don’t.
i’ll never be her again, but i am living in the life that she built. waited for. dreamed of. i’ll never be her again, but i try to take good care of her things
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Joelle Taylor - CUNTO
Winner of the T. S. Eliot Prize 2021 and the Polari Prize 2022
Spoken word protest poetry spoken about the like and experience of the body and moving through the world as a working class butch woman, and remembering those lost throughout the 80s and 90s
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for my femme...
★*☆
Sunset and dark enter, where is my lover?
Earth smell upon your hands, the same hands which bring me salvation.
I am my simplest with you.
Your insides shine like rubies,
All teeth and mouth and sacrifice.
I see you through your creation,
And I worship you at your lowest.
Cut me open and pull it out,
The throbbing heart within my chest.
It beats for you for you for you, my love.
Lick the blood off your fingers.
Strip me of my fears and complexities.
Allow me wholeness, allow me grace.
Bless me, temptation, and bring me
To bed.
★*☆
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I want to write poetry for my favorite butches’ carabiner and every girl who discovered true beauty in a pair of cargo shorts and a hat made for a dad of 3. I hope that someday they’ll find my words in the cereal they eat in the morning and laugh with Mary Magdalene.
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My existence,
after puberty,
was simply very lonely.
And so I felt old.
An old woman in the body of a boy.
I had no language to describe myself.
Homosexual, transgender,
butch.
these words did not exist to me,
I was nothing.
Isolated behind the glass
of wordlessness,
I didn’t exist either.
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"The truly feminist solution would make me,
female that I am, good enough.
as good as any man, even that crucial male
the son my mother would love
and further, would make my mother,
who taught me first what's wrong
with being female, good enough.
I'm sure there is such a feminist solution,
floating in the future, maybe in my future.
And further, I'm sure there's a feminist future
where nobody needs this true solution,
because nobody has the problem.
I believe in these things.
It might be too late for me:
maybe only girls growing up now
will be able to act in ways we call butch
without having to know what we know.
Maybe their brothers won't know to hate them for it.
Adorno writes, I don't remember where, that we can't
imagine the truly new, the truly different.
In the worlds I now inhabit I feel, variously,
transgressive, damaged, reactionary.
I hope to feel at least differently
estranged in the new world I cannot imagine.
Sometimes I think the claim that butches
are damaged women who hate themselves
for being female is true, about me
Other times I can't bear to accord
that much power to convention.
I won't hate my parents, who let me
grow up butch, and were pleased with me.
If they were horrified by my being female,
they only had to do what they did-
have another kid, a male.
On the other hand, being butch is not
only a shelter against a hard place.
It's got its pleasures and I take them.
Salesmen call me "sir."
Streetwalkers say, "What you doin' tonight, honey?"
My girlfriend dresses up for me,
lets me undress her, lets me fuck her;
doesn't ask me what I can't give.
I won't lie: this is important to me.
And it's not truly feminist.
After years of disputing the correct line,
I admit it.
Thought I remember all the women
who condemned me for being what I am,
and wanted me anyway."
-"The Long View" by Pam A. Parker, from The Persistent Desire (Edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)
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NEW EPISODE: ROSE COLOURED VIOLETS: VOLUME II
Twenty new poems from Freddie Thomas about trans lesbianism!
Rose Coloured Violets: Volume II is out NOW!
https://shows.acast.com/tranthologies/episodes/rose-coloured-violets-volume-ii
Art by Necrotika Trashwhore
Image Description: Three figures against a backdrop of colours from the lesbian, trans, and nonbinary flags.
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Beneaped. Rowboat, pirogue, caught between the lowest
and highest tides of the spring. Beneaped. Befallen,
becalmed, benighted, yes, begotten.
—Be—infernal prefix of the actionless.
—Be—as in Sit, Stand, Lie, Obey.
The dog's awful desire that takes his brain
and lays it at the boot-heel.
You can be like this forever—Be
as without movement
— Adrienne Rich, from Letters to a Young Poet (1997)
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what your butch pal isn't saying
my dear friend, I know you love her
but if love is an action
I don't think she loves you back.
she might cry at separation
but she won't let go
whilst beating you away.
I see you give, numb
from work and lover
and wish you'd fall into rest.
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Ode to a Teenage Dykehood
I was a kid, a minute ago. A month ago. A year ago. I’m still a kid.
Still a kind of deep-down scared most of the time. Deep-down lonely. Not that deep down.
Eyes down, in the change room, still sticky-faced from gym class. Not looking, never looking. Looking away.
Still haven’t moved away, still at home, still in my princess pink bedroom. I chose the colour myself. I was four, I think.
Not thinking about me at eighteen, me at nineteen, me creeping up on twenty. Still in the same room, with the same walls, princess pink.
Pink cheeks and a heart that’s beating too loud when she presses her shoulder into mine on the couch. When she turns to me in the dark. When she sways a little closer. I’m not sure which one of us looks away this time. It was probably me. It’s always me.
Always nervous. Always checking the time. Checking the weather. Checking the wrong box on all the forms at the doctor. Signing a name that doesn’t belong to me. That I don’t belong to.
Will it be long, what I’m waiting for?
What am I waiting for?
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But when asked about the representation of butch lesbians in the mainstream media, Taylor was scathing.
“What representation? I’m sorry, I don’t see any. It’s literally, absolutely nowhere,” she said.
[...]
“It’s a call really to all butch women, trans mascs, non-binary, gender non-conforming, funny-looking men, funny-looking women,” she said. “The butch identity, I feel, is resurfacing.”
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“Trapped”
Stone Butch Blues - Leslie Feinberg
@/lilboyblueish on Instagram
Poem by Keaton St. James (@boykeats)
I/Me/Myself - Will Wood
We Both Laughed In Pleasure by Lou Sullivan
cis people asking cis questions by Silas Denver Melvin (@sweatermuppet)
Tomboy Survival Guide by Ivan Coyote
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here's a fake interview about my me & my girlfriend that i transcribed from my head. enjoy!
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figuring things out, reflecting.
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i imagine the butches’ stripper bar - jill mcdonough
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Tomboy Survival Guide by Ivan Coyote
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