mint, rain & pages @mintrainandpages-blog - Tumblr Blog

I got up and came downstairs to have breakfast with the sunrise. Card of the day - Aura. #may1st #beltane2017

#may1st #beltane2017

A reading for the month of May. Past: communication Present: cleansing Future: luck. All chosen with my new pendulum. 🔮#mayadventures #beltane2017

#beltane2017 #mayadventures

palexcitedx

1.I learned that when you’re 12 years old, you’re too young to know anything about your sexual orientation, unless you’re straight, of course. 2.I learned to hate the word “lesbian” before I even knew what it meant because people kept talking bad about “that” type of person. 3.And I learned to hate myself when I realized I was “that” type of person. 4.I learned to kiss boys I didn’t know to try and forget about the feelings I had for one of my classmate because who the hell would still love me if they discovered that side of me? 5.I learned that I shouldn’t mention my lover’s name in a conversation because we all know that some kind of love can make people feel uncomfortable. 6.I learned to keep my mouth shut when people asked me if I was in a relationship yet because nobody expect a female name coming up after that question. 7.I learned to change every pronouns and names in my poems whenever I wrote about her for people to appreciate my words and not keep wondering why the names in it sound so girly. 8.I learned to introduce her to my family as a friend because I was sure my mom wouldn’t let her in if she knew what kind of “friend” she was for me. 9.I learned to live with a constant fear of people finding out about my sexuality even if I couldn’t understand what was bad about it. 10.I finally learned what “living in a closet” meant because I swear to god, I never felt more trapped in my own skin.

-10 things I learned about my sexuality as I grew up.

scarlettethewriter-blog

I want to worship your skin, I want to pray between your knees. I’ll damn myself to have your hands all over me. God has no place here. Adam has no place here. Only you. Only us. My Goddess. My Eve. I want your name in my mouth like a hymn. I’ll cover myself in you like its holy water. Us in the thrones, us in the skies, us in the garden with no sin. They’ll say our union is unholy, ungodly: they’ll call it blasphemous, I’ll call it sacred.

Our love is not impure, Scarlette La Vaillante

latenightcornerstore

I’m only a teenager. I’m watching Blue is the Warmest Color, or Boys Don’t Cry, or Brokeback Mountain. I’m still in the closet, because my father does not believe in bisexuality, and so I do not believe in myself. From the television, I’m learning that people like me don’t get happy endings, that queer cinema isn’t so much a genre as it is a fashionable body count. Because the straight masses only love us when we’re martyrs, or tragedies, because we’re less sympathetic when we’re not being punished. Skip to now. Halfway through June of 2016 and seventeen lesbian characters have been killed on mainstream television. Most of them, in brutal, graphic ways and in the wake of dead lesbian number eighteen, my girlfriend texts me to ask if we get to be happy. And I don’t feel safe. I’m struggling to pay rent and another lesbian dies on television. I get a new job and another lesbian dies on television. I ask my girlfriend to move in and another lesbian dies on television. So how much longer can they calls us beautiful tragedies before they admit we’re a cautionary tale? A warning that women who love women have no right to their own futures? A boogieman to keep queer little girls up at night? Queer cinema evolved to be reactionary— to challenge the prettily packaged clichés of straight romance, to tell the gritty parts of our stories that straight audiences refused to look at directly, but my existence is not for straight consumption. Now, when heartbroken little kids go looking for someone, anyone, who looks like them, they get to see themselves as blood in the bathtub, secondhand smoke, a teenager in a body bag. We need the dream of the happy ending. We need the promise of a future. If I wanted to watch queer people being slaughtered en masse, I’d turn on the evening news. What I need is hope. The other day, I finished this book and the ending was so sugary and unrealistic and horribly cliché, but more than half the main characters were queer and it was just so good to exist, even for a moment, in a world where we were all happy and no one died.

NOT ANOTHER DEAD LESBIAN by Ashe Vernon