There is nothing restorative or powerful about being the fat queer girl. This isn’t going to be some poignant statement about how we should love ourselves. If that’s what you’re here for, go elsewhere. There are a million poems about that so go read one of those.
There’s nothing confidence-inspiring about being the fat queer girl. Even among the enby femmes there is no fatness that is celebrated where we can see it; everyone is thin, thin, thin, thin because there is no fluidity in the softness of fat, I guess even though that’s metaphorically-incorrect and factually-incorrect and also deeply unfair.
And because I’m on a roll here with the self-pity– I’m not even the right kind of fat queer girl. You know the ones. The tall, busty girls with big eyes and the suggestion of hourglass waists in their forgiving proportions and shapely legs and mouths you could kiss until sunrise. With my lovehandles overswelling my hips. Inadequate breasts, columnal thighs, short neck, tiny eyes, thin lips, twisted spine–
There’s no one who wants to be the fat queer girl.
There are many, many posts I begin but never manage to complete. Such is the way of life, I think, but hopefully I’ll finish this one because it’s on the important side.
My sister and I had a conversation recently about failure. About how we both live with a constant sense of having failed in our lives no matter the milestones or personal goals we have achieved.
Continue reading “Failure in Late Capitalism”
I traded one form of insulation for another.
Continue reading “ramblings on privilege”
I dreamt songs of hospitality, singing asylum to those fleeing storm and rout, cruelty and despair. It was a simple rule to live by: give home, give warmth, give food, give hope. In a major key lilting between harmonic minors like a call to prayer echoing over a cityscape older than my bloodline could hope to be. No matter how many mothers I can count back this song is older. Open your doors. Hold out your palms. Trace those lines of homehearthearth branching toward arteries and soul.
An ink-eater has a great number of thoughts about the systematic decline of the U.S. Education system and wants to talk about it. More below.
Continue reading “Anti-Intellectualism & Education Theory, pt. 1”
Yes, I know, you are scared. Yes, I know, you are grieving. Yes, I know, you are weary, you are sick, you are dying, you are rage. You are. And so you will continue to be. But will you let them feast on the soft sweet meat of your belly while you lie prone helpless or shoot you in the back for sport while you run blind screaming impotent? Turn your eye toward your fear your anger your despair– from where has it come? Where is it going? Harness it. Ride it. Generations before you have faced down ranks on the back of the same beast. This is your inheritance.