Tuesday, July the 29th of 2014.

hollifo:

Whoops, my finger slipped!

Original story is here [x]

Friday, July the 18th of 2014.
brownroundboi:

bklynboihood:

HOMEBOIS DON’T WRITE
homebois we don’t write enough love poems.we re-name ourselves izzie from Isabella,casey from Cassandra, kay from Kathleen.we run out of ink for our stories cuz we’ve beenrunning through doors of male and female, never satisfied.           we stunnin’ baggy jeans and bright colors over the sirens,we stop cars and walk with stride that makes the concrete self-consciousabout it’s own stability.hitting pavement at the tip-toes of summer,there you go talkin’ about how you  “need a woman pregnant and barefoot.”as I shutter asking,           are you gonna find a stiletto ready to stab youif the knight sticks don’t come get you first?asking- are you gonna be that bullet that is a mouth?asking- are you gonna be that missile that blasts your woman until she misses you,even when you will both be in the same bed?if we make ourselves harder than bone,            make us a legacy that is beyond all this.cuz I’ve been running through doors of male and female,never satisfied.that makes you nervous doesn’t it?are you worried, your palms sweatybecause I am NOT that kind of a manAGstudbutchboiwarrior           and that might make you obsolete, that means this whole systemneeds a revision. that means, we have to ask ourselves dailyare you are doing your homework?homebois, we don’t write enough love poems toourselves. spell out our soft syllables unapologetically, lettingthe ferocity in us extend us a strength beyond stiff jaw and cold silence,the stuff of abandoned buildings.let us unfold the photos with us dipped in lace and dresses and laugh.let the most tender cipher surround us not be our mother’s tears for the lossof a daughter.let us hold our breaths for the sakia gunns and the fong lee’s, as itcould easily be our sweat on this sidewalk.let us adore the swiftness of kisses in moonlight rather than thepummeling cusses of strangers scared of difference.let the tensile ace bandage be a testament across this chest, waving like prophetsof a gender war.let every poor black brown and yellow butch see her way intoa paintbrush, a camera, an uprock, a computer, and not into the hips ofhand grenades chucked on someone else’s homeland.to every person who squirms in the bathrooms, classrooms, and on stagesnext to me, let them know that this moment is a clue of your queerness.let them know my titas are at casinos burning this American dream away toolet them know my kuyas christen their kid’s foreheads and give me daps with the same hands.let them know that each time they make fun of us, they could be in a feather boa,singing prince, showing their wives some force that will drive them toward and not away.let their children run up and down the city  as the confident queer kids, who getscholarships to college for a GSA or for promoting safety at school,you being the backward parent they divulge to teachers they are ashamed of.let me not reveal my monster each time I hear “I’ll fuck you straight.”let my fingers not be readied trigger, grabbing sharp objects for stabbing back,to turn them into the  bloodiest meat they make of mewith their pyramid of power.let me walk away without harm, disbanding my razor-edgethat could cut their lifelines, slice steel song into their temples,shear off their pride as soon as they start to unzip their pants.let us know we can do thisand make it clear:we choose not to.universe, if we can make ourselves harder than bone,  harder than stone,           make us a legacy that is beyond all this.



A 2009 Campus Pride Hot List artist, 2013 Trans Justice Funding Project Panelist, and 2013 Trans 100 Honoree, Kay Ulanday Barrett is a poet, performer, educator, and martial artist navigating life as a disabled pin@y amerikan transgender queer in the U.S. with struggle, resistance, and laughter. Please see his online swerve at: kaybarrett.net and on twitter @kulandaybarrett.

This poem is for my QTPOC homebois. Every one of you. We’ve got to protect each other.We’ve got to undo the bullshit in ourselves. We’ve got to stop competing.We’ve got to undo our bullshitAnd uplift our brilliance.
 style=

brownroundboi:

bklynboihood:

HOMEBOIS DON’T WRITE

homebois we don’t write enough love poems.
we re-name ourselves izzie from Isabella,
casey from Cassandra, kay from Kathleen.

we run out of ink for our stories cuz we’ve been
running through doors of male and female, never satisfied.
           
we stunnin’ baggy jeans and bright colors over the sirens,
we stop cars and walk with stride that makes the concrete self-conscious
about it’s own stability.

hitting pavement at the tip-toes of summer,
there you go talkin’ about how you  
“need a woman pregnant and barefoot.”

as I shutter asking,
           are you gonna find a stiletto ready to stab you
if the knight sticks don’t come get you first?

asking- are you gonna be that bullet that is a mouth?
asking- are you gonna be that missile that blasts your woman until she misses you,
even when you will both be in the same bed?

if we make ourselves harder than bone,
            make us a legacy that is beyond all this.

cuz I’ve been running through doors of male and female,
never satisfied.

that makes you nervous doesn’t it?
are you worried, your palms sweaty

because I am NOT that kind of a man

AG
stud
butch
boi
warrior

           and that might make you obsolete, that means this whole system
needs a revision. that means, we have to ask ourselves daily

are you are doing your homework?

homebois, we don’t write enough love poems to
ourselves. spell out our soft syllables unapologetically, letting
the ferocity in us extend us a strength beyond stiff jaw and cold silence,
the stuff of abandoned buildings.

let us unfold the photos with us dipped in lace and dresses and laugh.
let the most tender cipher surround us not be our mother’s tears for the loss
of a daughter.

let us hold our breaths for the sakia gunns and the fong lee’s, as it
could easily be our sweat on this sidewalk.
let us adore the swiftness of kisses in moonlight rather than the
pummeling cusses of strangers scared of difference.
let the tensile ace bandage be a testament across this chest, waving like prophets
of a gender war.

let every poor black brown and yellow butch see her way into
a paintbrush, a camera, an uprock, a computer, and not into the hips of
hand grenades chucked on someone else’s homeland.
to every person who squirms in the bathrooms, classrooms, and on stages
next to me, let them know that this moment is a clue of your queerness.
let them know my titas are at casinos burning this American dream away too

let them know my kuyas christen their kid’s foreheads and give me daps with the same hands.
let them know that each time they make fun of us, they could be in a feather boa,
singing prince, showing their wives some force that will drive them toward and not away.
let their children run up and down the city  as the confident queer kids, who get
scholarships to college for a GSA or for promoting safety at school,
you being the backward parent they divulge to teachers they are ashamed of.

let me not reveal my monster each time I hear “I’ll fuck you straight.”
let my fingers not be readied trigger, grabbing sharp objects for stabbing back,
to turn them into the  bloodiest meat they make of me
with their pyramid of power.

let me walk away without harm, disbanding my razor-edge
that could cut their lifelines, slice steel song into their temples,
shear off their pride as soon as they start to unzip their pants.

let us know we can do this
and make it clear:
we choose not to.

universe, if we can make ourselves harder than bone,  harder than stone,
           make us a legacy that is beyond all this.


A 2009 Campus Pride Hot List artist, 2013 Trans Justice Funding Project Panelist, and 2013 Trans 100 Honoree, Kay Ulanday Barrett is a poet, performer, educator, and martial artist navigating life as a disabled pin@y amerikan transgender queer in the U.S. with struggle, resistance, and laughter. Please see his online swerve at: kaybarrett.net and on twitter @kulandaybarrett.

This poem is for my QTPOC homebois.
Every one of you.
We’ve got to protect each other.
We’ve got to undo the bullshit in ourselves.
We’ve got to stop competing.
We’ve got to undo our bullshit
And uplift our brilliance.

(via fuckyeahlgbtqartists)

Friday, July the 18th of 2014.
theskaldspeaks:

sourcedumal:

christel-thoughts:

fyahblaze:

blackfeminism:

ourtimeorg:

If you don’t know who Johnnie Tillmon was, look her up.

Welfare is a Women’s Issue (1972) by Johnnie Tillmon
I’m a woman. I’m a black woman. I’m a poor woman. I’m a fat woman. I’m a middle-aged woman. And I’m on welfare.
In this country, if you’re any one of those things you count less as a human being. If you’re all those things, you don’t count at all. Except as a statistic.
I am 45 years old. I have raised six children. There are millions of statistics like me. Some on welfare. Some not. And some, really poor, who don’t even know they’re entitled to welfare. Not all of them are black. Not at all. In fact, the majority-about two-thirds-of all the poor families in the country are white.
Welfare’s like a traffic accident. It can happen to anybody, but especially it happens to women.
And that’s why welfare is a women’s issue. For a lot of middle-class women in this country, Women’s Liberation is a matter of concern. For women on welfare it’s a matter of survival.
Survival. That’s why we had to go on welfare. And that’s why we can’t get off welfare now. Not us women. Not until we do something about liberating poor women in this country.
Because up until now we’ve been raised to expect to work, all our lives, for nothing. Because we are the worst educated, the least-skilled, and the lowest-paid people there are. Because we have to be almost totally responsible for our children. Because we are regarded by everybody as dependents. That’s why we are on welfare. And that’s why we stay on it.
Welfare is the most prejudiced institution in this country, even more than marriage, which it tries to imitate. Let me explain that a little.
Ninety-nine percent of welfare families are headed by women. There is no man around. In half the states there can’t be men around because A.F.D.C. (Aid to Families With Dependent Children) says if there is an “able-bodied” man around, then you can’t be on welfare. If the kids are going to eat, and the man can’t get a job, then he’s got to go.
Welfare is like a super-sexist marriage. You trade in a man for the man. But you can’t divorce him if he treats you bad. He can divorce you, of course, cut you off anytime he wants. But in that case, he keeps the kids, not you.The man runs everything. In ordinary marriage, sex is supposed to be for your husband. On A.F.D.C., you’re not supposed to have any sex at all. You give up control of your own body. It’s a condition of aid. You may even have to agree to get your tubes tied so you can never have more children just to avoid being cut off welfare.
The man, the welfare system, controls your money. He tells you what to buy, what not to buy, where to buy it, and how much things cost. If things-rent, for instance-really cost more than he says they do, it’s just too bad for you. He’s always right.
That’s why Governor [Ronald] Reagan can get away with slandering welfare recipients, calling them “lazy parasites,” “pigs at the trough,” and such. We’ve been trained to believe that the only reason people are on welfare is because there’s something wrong with their character. If people have “motivation,” if people only want to work, they can, and they will be able to support themselves and their kids in decency.
The truth is a job doesn’t necessarily mean an adequate income. There are some ten million jobs that now pay less than the minimum wage, and if you’re a woman, you’ve got the best chance of getting one. Why would a 45-year-old woman work all day in a laundry ironing shirts at 90-some cents an hour? Because she knows there’s some place lower she could be. She could be on welfare. Society needs women on welfare as “examples” to let every woman, factory workers and housewife workers alike, know what will happen if she lets up, if she’s laid off, if she tries to go it alone without a man. So these ladies stay on their feet or on their knees all their lives instead of asking why they’re only getting 90-some cents an hour, instead of daring to fight and complain.
Maybe we poor welfare women will really liberate women in this country. We’ve already started on our own welfare plan. Along with other welfare recipients, we have organized so we can have some voice. Our group is called the National Welfare Rights Organization (N.W.R.O.). We put together our own welfare plan, called Guaranteed Adequate Income (G.A.I.), which would eliminate sexism from welfare. There would be no “categories”-men, women, children, single, married, kids, no kids-just poor people who need aid. You’d get paid according to need and family size only and that would be upped as the cost of living goes up.
As far as I’m concerned, the ladies of N.W.R.O. are the front-line troops of women’s freedom. Both because we have so few illusions and because our issues are so important to all women-the right to a living wage for women’s work, the right to life itself.

still relevant today

 source 

Black feminism fighting for justice!

Holy shit. 
If you scrolled past to here, scroll back up and read that. 
 style=

theskaldspeaks:

sourcedumal:

christel-thoughts:

fyahblaze:

blackfeminism:

ourtimeorg:

If you don’t know who Johnnie Tillmon was, look her up.

Welfare is a Women’s Issue (1972) by Johnnie Tillmon

I’m a woman. I’m a black woman. I’m a poor woman. I’m a fat woman. I’m a middle-aged woman. And I’m on welfare.

In this country, if you’re any one of those things you count less as a human being. If you’re all those things, you don’t count at all. Except as a statistic.

I am 45 years old. I have raised six children. There are millions of statistics like me. Some on welfare. Some not. And some, really poor, who don’t even know they’re entitled to welfare. Not all of them are black. Not at all. In fact, the majority-about two-thirds-of all the poor families in the country are white.

Welfare’s like a traffic accident. It can happen to anybody, but especially it happens to women.

And that’s why welfare is a women’s issue. For a lot of middle-class women in this country, Women’s Liberation is a matter of concern. For women on welfare it’s a matter of survival.

Survival. That’s why we had to go on welfare. And that’s why we can’t get off welfare now. Not us women. Not until we do something about liberating poor women in this country.

Because up until now we’ve been raised to expect to work, all our lives, for nothing. Because we are the worst educated, the least-skilled, and the lowest-paid people there are. Because we have to be almost totally responsible for our children. Because we are regarded by everybody as dependents. That’s why we are on welfare. And that’s why we stay on it.

Welfare is the most prejudiced institution in this country, even more than marriage, which it tries to imitate. Let me explain that a little.

Ninety-nine percent of welfare families are headed by women. There is no man around. In half the states there can’t be men around because A.F.D.C. (Aid to Families With Dependent Children) says if there is an “able-bodied” man around, then you can’t be on welfare. If the kids are going to eat, and the man can’t get a job, then he’s got to go.

Welfare is like a super-sexist marriage. You trade in a man for the man. But you can’t divorce him if he treats you bad. He can divorce you, of course, cut you off anytime he wants. But in that case, he keeps the kids, not you.The man runs everything. In ordinary marriage, sex is supposed to be for your husband. On A.F.D.C., you’re not supposed to have any sex at all. You give up control of your own body. It’s a condition of aid. You may even have to agree to get your tubes tied so you can never have more children just to avoid being cut off welfare.

The man, the welfare system, controls your money. He tells you what to buy, what not to buy, where to buy it, and how much things cost. If things-rent, for instance-really cost more than he says they do, it’s just too bad for you. He’s always right.

That’s why Governor [Ronald] Reagan can get away with slandering welfare recipients, calling them “lazy parasites,” “pigs at the trough,” and such. We’ve been trained to believe that the only reason people are on welfare is because there’s something wrong with their character. If people have “motivation,” if people only want to work, they can, and they will be able to support themselves and their kids in decency.

The truth is a job doesn’t necessarily mean an adequate income. There are some ten million jobs that now pay less than the minimum wage, and if you’re a woman, you’ve got the best chance of getting one. Why would a 45-year-old woman work all day in a laundry ironing shirts at 90-some cents an hour? Because she knows there’s some place lower she could be. She could be on welfare. Society needs women on welfare as “examples” to let every woman, factory workers and housewife workers alike, know what will happen if she lets up, if she’s laid off, if she tries to go it alone without a man. So these ladies stay on their feet or on their knees all their lives instead of asking why they’re only getting 90-some cents an hour, instead of daring to fight and complain.

Maybe we poor welfare women will really liberate women in this country. We’ve already started on our own welfare plan. Along with other welfare recipients, we have organized so we can have some voice. Our group is called the National Welfare Rights Organization (N.W.R.O.). We put together our own welfare plan, called Guaranteed Adequate Income (G.A.I.), which would eliminate sexism from welfare. There would be no “categories”-men, women, children, single, married, kids, no kids-just poor people who need aid. You’d get paid according to need and family size only and that would be upped as the cost of living goes up.

As far as I’m concerned, the ladies of N.W.R.O. are the front-line troops of women’s freedom. Both because we have so few illusions and because our issues are so important to all women-the right to a living wage for women’s work, the right to life itself.

still relevant today

source

Black feminism fighting for justice!

Holy shit. 

If you scrolled past to here, scroll back up and read that. 

(via lonealien)

Tuesday, July the 15th of 2014.
dapperandswag:

Model: NeoShirt: J. CrewCollar Clips: Dapper and Swag bee clips, in gold, silver, and bronze
 style=

dapperandswag:

Model: Neo
Shirt: J. Crew
Collar Clips: Dapper and Swag bee clips, in goldsilver, and bronze

Monday, July the 14th of 2014.
boyishgirls:

heartsinrevolt
 style=

boyishgirls:

heartsinrevolt

Monday, July the 14th of 2014.

crystalqueer:

image

image

“Lyte As A Rock”
RockersCloset.tumblr.com
Model: Alicia ( IG: @chapshirts )
Photographer: Courtnee Owens ( IG: @aletcorbet )
Styled by Rocker’s Closet.

(Source: rockerscloset, via fuckyeahlgbtqblackpeople)

Sunday, July the 13th of 2014.
Redhand 28 USN style=

Redhand 28 USN

Sunday, July the 13th of 2014.
I think I like my new blazer. :P style=

I think I like my new blazer. :P

Friday, July the 11th of 2014.
Yvonne/17/So Cal 
Artist, Photographer, Athlete
http://end-less-ly-dreaming.tumblr.com/ style=

Yvonne/17/So Cal 

Artist, Photographer, Athlete

http://end-less-ly-dreaming.tumblr.com/

Thursday, July the 10th of 2014.
maybeiamwater.tumblr.com style=

maybeiamwater.tumblr.com

Thursday, July the 10th of 2014.
dapperandswag:

Model: NeoCollar Clip: Dapper and Swag, owl collar clip in silver or bronzeShirt: J. Crew
 style=

dapperandswag:

Model: Neo
Collar Clip: Dapper and Swag, owl collar clip in silver or bronze
Shirt: J. Crew

Thursday, July the 10th of 2014.
Shira | 18 | vegan 
qu-ird.tumblr.com style=

Shira | 18 | vegan 

qu-ird.tumblr.com

Thursday, July the 10th of 2014.

(sorry, folks, I’m all about the angry text today)

If you really need to have your transmasculine identity validated by participating in some ‘bros before hoes’ femme-bashing misogynistic lad culture you are not the radical gender pioneer you are desperate for everyone to think you are.

You are a hackneyed stereotype who is so insecure in themselves that you have to play to the binary’s rigid definition of what is ‘masculine enough’ to feel accepted and approved of by the same oppressive patriarchy you claim to hate and transgress.

You could have been ground-breaking, you could have been gravity-defying; you could have been an angel poised to smash the blinkers of our ‘girls are/boys are/girls should/boys should’ world with a truthful and fiery sword. Instead, you’re just another ‘bros up, bitches down’ try-too-hard cartoon with your baseball cap on backwards, talking about femmes as though their feelings are a comical burden, their bodies a commodity, their anger an unjustified overreaction. You have traded your shot at revolution for a repulsive social conformity.

You are not radical, for all your bound breasts and packer and undercut, for all your struggle and sufferings to be at peace in a world that hates you, through all those years of hard-earned self-discovery; the tremulous steps on cracking ice I remember all too well myself.

There is nothing radical about perpetuating misogyny in order to fit in.

There is nothing radical about you.