Nobody understands femmes like butches do.
The way I am a woman, but not in the way the world expects. Something adjacent. Something sharper. Something that refuses to soften itself for men’s comfort.
Straight women laugh when I’m mean to men. They ask how I expect to get one if I don’t smile, if I speak too loudly, if I bite back. Bi women look at my long, sharp nails and my dark red mouth and ask how I’ll ever keep a girlfriend with claws like that. Men decide Im rude, arrogant, difficult. They hear my voice rise over theirs — unashamed and uninterested in permission — and wonder how I get anywhere without knowing my place.
They dont get it. They never will.
None of this is for them.
My red nails, my long hair, my lipstick the color of dried wine — none of it is an invitation for them. My too-loud laugh, my sharp tongue, my refusal to be pleasant are not flaws. They are signals. Filters. Warnings.
I am not built to be chosen by men, and I have no interest in being tolerated by them.
“No man will put up with that princess attitude,” they say.
I want men to stare when I stand still and wait for my butch to open the door, because I don’t touch handles when I’m with them. I want straight women to balk when we walk past — my finger hooked in their carabiner, their arms full of bags — because I dont carry heavy things. I’m a princess, and I’m exactly where I belong.
They dont understand that my sharp nails are for love only—tracing skin, scratching at a fresh buzz, leaving little love-marks that say youre wanted and youre home. That my loud voice softens when its just us. That my so-called bitchy attitude is devotion expressed as protection.
They understand that I am not performing womanhood for the world. I am not aspiring to it. I am something else—something harsher, something deliberate. Femme is not decoration. Femme is not submission. Femme is not a preference you toggle on an app.
Femme is high heels sharp enough to be a warning. Red lipstick hiding sharp teeth and a silver tongue. Femme is home—comfort and safety for my community. Femme is being the one who stands in front, the one who speaks louder than the ones who throw slurs, the one who refuses to shrink. Femme is loving butches in a way no one else can, and being loved in return without having to explain myself.
Because they get it. They want it, me, and all that I am. And that's enough.
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
