Being a butch loved by a butch
This is all stream of thought so fuckin… take it for what it is, one trans butch lesbian’s feelings about her own experience & love. I am genuinely uninterested in Discourse tm, this is literally just me being upon my ramble pedestal to get my feels out and perhaps someone somewhere will find them relatable.
Recently another butch dyke & I admitted our feelings to each other. We had both been dancing that complex dance for a while that butches, especially trans butches, have to perform; for you see, both of us being mentally ill trans butch dykes, we’re told we are predators on three different axes.
I have never felt more beautiful.
There’s this… reaffirmation, every time her lips touch mine, every time she takes my hand, every time she looks at me, of all the reasons butchness IS, for me. All the reasons it’s a thing I am, a badge I wear, a commitment to embodying a facet of lesbianism as a philosophy and way of living.
There’s a beauty and power in this that I don’t think words can capture, but my heart insists I try to, and the gushy thing won’t shut the fucking shit up until I do.
To me, being loved by another butch, being loved by THIS butch, is a microcosm of what it means to be a lesbian to begin with. To be a lesbian is to love a mirror; to learn, through your love of other women, to love yourself. To love the kind of womanhood lesbians experience. To love lesbians is to love lesbianism itself, which I believe is why so much of lesbian culture these days is self-referencing and screaming “I’M GAY PALS” into the void.
It follows from there in this heart’s spool of twine marking the labyrinth of human experience that being loved by another butch is analogous to being loved by another woman to begin with; a reflection that teaches, through loving another like ourselves, to love ourselves.
Her muscles are beautiful, and that means mine are too.
Her scars are beautiful, and that means mine are too.
Her cocky grin and the swagger in her step when she sees me blush are beautiful, and that means mine must be, too.
Her strength, and her pain, and her love, are beautiful, and that means mine must be, too.