Being a lesbian feels so claustrophobic. When you’re a lesbian there is nothing you can have for your own.
You can’t define yourself with words because they will be appropriated. "Gay" is an umbrella term. You’re gatekeeping if you ask bi/pan women note to call themselves “lesbians.” "Femme" is just a synonym for “feminine.”
Your sexuality is commodified and sold to men as a grotesque distortion of your experiences. Lesbian love gets repackaged as a sexy little fetish designed for palatability to the men we will never want. Every inch of your body is public property and must be up for discussion. Same with your sex life. They will ask if you scissor, if you use strap ons, what sex with dildos is like. Once someone came up to a girlfriend and I in pubic and asked her what my genitals tasted like. If you try to find other women to date you quickly encounter the het couples and het-partnered women who want you to be their exciting sex toy for the night.
You are scrutinized at all times. When you walk in public with your girlfriend they scream at you that you’re lesbians, that you’re dykes, because they want you to know that you are always being watched and you are unsafe.
You join LGBTQ+ communities only to find that people become angry if you talk about lesbians instead of “queer women.” They tell you that being a lesbian is a privilege, that your sexuality ought to be fluid, that your experiences don’t matter. You are invalidated at every turn. In death they might snatch away the final dignity of letting you die as a lesbian – look at what has happened to Sally Ride.
You can’t have your body. You can’t have your sexuality. You can’t have your privacy. You can’t even name your experiences. There is no space, no language, no tiny scrap of anything that will ever be yours.
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
yousharknotpass
