Kana @transladystrong - Tumblr Blog

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I wear “I don’t care if I’m a clocky tranny” as armor all the time, but it’s so heavy, and I wish I could take it off and stop keeping it on my mind all the time but every time I ever have, like today, I just get caught by surprise by it and it’s like I’m being crushed like a slug in traffic

Like I can’t tell you how terrible it feels to be vain and also be a part of a class of human that is experience a global bigotry crusade based on things that are visually identifiable

I wish I could look at my own appearance with actual neutrality and not the neutrality that I am forced to adopt for my own fucking survival

Like my higher self is telling me I must remain neutral or I won’t make it and i do but it is fucking exhausting and every time I take my eye off it for one fucking afternoon it comes back for me with no fucking mercy

#deep sigh #transmysogyny #tw transmysogyny

maxineharlow

mothcub

Happy Mother’s Day to all my trans moms out there. I see you and I love you and I am holding you up.

Btm

I touch my pussy only to find it is filled with shards of glass. I finger at it. I can’t get them out. One piece, painstakingly pried out before nausea and blood loss stop me. I promised my body that I wouldn’t hurt it any more. I pull my panties back on. I put the shard of glass in my mouth for safekeeping. I leave the single occupancy bathroom in my office and return to my cubicle.

I rest my hand on my face as I slouch at my desk. It comes away bloody. Not much, just enough to remind me to keep my guard up, even when I am alone. More time passes pointedly ignoring the puddle of blood collecting in my chair. One would almost hope instead for a head wound, but no. We decided a long time ago that it is better to live, pussy full of glass and all.

I have a date that night. Trying out my new strap on harness. My partner sucks me off before I fuck them. Their eye contact is searing with lips wrapped around a strawberry pattern dildo. I fuck them like a hound. They say, “like you want to hurt me.” With fingers and silicone, I oblige.

Underneath my panties, my aching clit is rubbed raw by the leather of my harness. I can feel glass crunching as I clench around ghost fingers. When they beg me to stop, I flop on top of them and shiver with the thrill while blood creeps down my thighs. The air in my nostrils is thick with the smell of pennies, but I hardly notice. I’m not breathing after all. Way down inside me, her eyes are squeezed tight against how wrong her body feels. She knows I love her. She knows I have found a way to let my body feel good. She hears me moan in pleasure while my date laps hungrily at my pussy.

When I cum, closed chain arching with the earth, she gives a small half smile. “I am doing all of this for her,” I tell my partner. The girl inside hears me, and believes it. Still she cannot begin to unclench her fists. Still she is cut off at the waist. She looks at me with begging eyes. In obeisance with her need, I bow my head and remove the piece of glass out of my mouth. I slip it back inside my pussy.

Earlier today I bought something sexy to make myself feel better. My inner goddess asks me if I am going to look into the surgery today. She sits inside me with a wound as wide as the ocean, waiting for me to conquer my fear or to make a friend of it.

I have gone to the bathroom 16 times in the last three days. I don’t know if that is a normal amount. I know it is not normal that I have counted them.

#tw dysphoria #tw blood

Dysphoria blooms

Dysphoria blossoming and spreading

such beauty it has to show me

grown with love from the very soil of me

hot and wet, rich and black.

I am full of everything.

I am lost in the garden of it,

and though my skin is pricked and bloody,

and though my bare feet are achy and torn,

I sink my toes into the earth,

And I am glad to be here.

Dear body,

I apologize deeply to you for your pain.

or mine. I don't know which is

which of if there is even a line.

I'm sorry for the way my mental health

crisis has become your embodied sense of anguish

Stone in my chest. spiked and barbed.

splattered in my blood like lingerie.

I turned this part of myself over and found

that the hardest, deadest part of me was

teeming with all the life I had rejected.

No longer my own but vibrant and ferocious

for its own sake.

It scattered in the light, and went to ground

again. And now I can't close my eyes

because I can feel it on my skin, hear it in the

echo of my own footsteps.

My voice teems with insects

Still the stone in my chest sits heavy. Dead,

hard thing to remind me that I am still alive.

That my dearest companion has lived

to fight another day.

"i am still alive," you tell me. "but it will not always be so."

"I am still alive," you say with teeth gritted and blood on your lips.

"I am still alive." while anguish courses through you thicker than blood or air.

"I am still alive." you say in the face of my paltry offerings.

"I am still alive, but it will not always be so." meanwhile I hunger with no mouth. I yearn to see without eyes. I dream of touch, but all I can feel is the absence of what should be.

I wish I believed in reincarnation. I wish I believed I could try again in the next life instead. I wish that to simply be was not a test of courage or a feat of strength.

And yet still I am alive. My body, my companion, my helper, my friend. My most attendant lover. My most loving attendant. Though I hunger and thirst, I am happiest in your embrace, and tired as I am, I need only what you can give me.

#tw dysphoria

pseudonymjones

#I feel this in my fucking soul

segamascott

bi-astolfo

The claim is not new — the Miami Herald published its findings in summer 2025.

standwithdaanes

source for the congresswoman thing as well, because i hadn't heard about that:

The Trump administration has repeatedly attempted to restrict or thwart congressmembers’ access to ICE jails.

pigeonculttt

The Trans Agenda is to Keep My F*cking Friends Alive — sol rios

published as part of the Citizen Trans* {Project} by New Words Press

finalgirldigital

People love natives in such a superficial way. People wanna stand with natives when we’re talking about the trees, and the land. People wanna stand with natives when we talk about philosophies of love and togetherness. But as soon as it’s time to talk about political side of being native. About dismantling a system built on the genocide of our people. About how we need a new system that isn’t built upon capital gain and benefitting white bodies. About putting up a fight. About how the colonial state we reside in is a disgusting imperial plague on this land. Suddenly y’all don’t wanna talk native.

neechees

"They spent hundreds of years trying to assimilate my ancestors, trying to create indians like me, who could blend in, but now they don’t want me either. They can’t make up their minds.

They want buckskin and face paint, drumming, songs in languages they can’t understand recorded for them but with English subtitles, of course. They want educated, well spoken, but not too smart. Christian, well behaved, never question. They want to learn the history of the people, but not the ones that are here now, waving signs in their faces, asking them for clean drinking water, asking them why their women are going missing, asking them why their land is being ruined.

They want fantastical stories of Indians that used to roam this land. They want my culture behind glass in a museum.

But they don’t want me." -Shelby Lisk

elierlick

Yet another new study debunked the basis for the anti-trans sports bans. It was never about sports but for creating legal avenues for exclusion and abjection. This is one of the largest analyses ever conducted, involving 52 studies and 6,485 trans people. Read the study here.

lucieslucidity

post so nice had to reblog it twice and force it down everyone's throats

the-haiku-bot

post so nice had to

reblog it twice and force it

down everyone’s throats

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

Shout out to my habit of cleaning my place when I can’t find something after I looked everywhere for it. Usually I find it, sometimes it’s lost (RIP to me wallets), but I always end up with a nice clean laundry chair in my room, and my dishes are done. Gotta be one of the nicest things anyone gives me on a consistent basis, and it’s nice that it’s coming from myself.

#self ship

isuggestlandback

Hey, let's have a quick chat about white fragility, white tears, and racism. Have a look at the screenshots below first:

I've highlighted a couple key parts.

These screenshots were part of a 6 reply rant that a commenter wrote out in response to someone answering their question. The answerer did not at any point swear or insult them, they did not use personal attacks or CAPITAL LETTERS or excessive exclamation points. They answered in clear, plain language.

Being told, calmly, that they were incorrect and that Indigenous people do not exist to answer their every question brought on some REALLY BIG emotions for this commenter. Look at the language the commenter is using: attack, lambasted, accusation, make me feel like shit, charge me

That's pretty intense language for a casual conversation. Why do you think they chose these words?

I see this happen on tumblr, and in other leftist spaces, regularly. Someone Black and/or Native is treated like they are being angry, aggressive, or unfair because they corrected or disagreed with someone. Often, but not always, someone white.

Black and/or Native people do not get the luxury of high emotion in conversations about racism. We are treated like the aggressors in conversations regardless of how calmly we respond. And when we refuse to submit to their opinion they melt down.

This is an example of racism. Racism doesn't just mean overt hatred and slurs, racism seeps into our every day interactions.

When we talk about white fragility this is what we mean, when white people (or people who have more access to white privilege than we do) are incapable of interacting with people of colour without acting like a football player with a stubbed toe. White tears is a phrase used to describe the way that white people (or people who bla bla bla you get it) will publicly act like they've been harmed in an attempt to gain sympathy from other privileged people, or to get themselves out of trouble.

These microaggressions are part of the greater structure of racism that makes leftist spaces so frustrating for people of colour, and especially for Black and Native people. When we can't even answer questions that have been directly asked to us without being treated like criminals.

On tumblr this often manifests as Black and Native bloggers being accused of bullying, ableism, transphobia, or even other forms of racism by white users over disagreements or differences of opinion.

Callout posts for me, but not for thee, hey?

No one is exempt from perpetuating racism. I am a light skinned mixed Native, and I need to be aware of this in my interactions with darker skinned people, because despite being Native I still carry more privilege than my darker cousins, and I am absolutely capable of using that privilege against them without knowing it.

All of us, as anti-racists, are responsible for dissecting our internal biases.

Keep this in mind as you tumble.