kenya

“It is a lesbian bar.” Jorhdon had joined the conversation. They leaned over the counter. “To not call this a lesbian bar does a disservice to the reason the bar was created. This bar was built decades ago to be a safe space for lesbians. This is not a gay bar. This is a lesbian bar, and to ignore that is an erasure.”
― Krista Burton, Moby Dyke: An Obsessive Quest to Track Down the Last Remaining Lesbian Bars in America

“Well, however it happened, you and I both exist now. Whether that’s because of the universe, or science, or God, or something else, it doesn’t matter. We’re here. You’re here. . . .” His voice catches at that part, and I can hear him trying to rein himself in. “Maybe God exists, and maybe he doesn’t, and no one will ever know with absolute certainty. But what I do know is that you exist, Cesar. I thought we were going to lose you, but you’re still here. And I need you to know that your life is just as holy and precious as any god.” Even though I can’t agree, I know he’s not telling me he worships me like a god. He’s saying he sees me as an integral part of his universe. And I can’t help but feel the same way about him. Maybe he is right, in a way. Maybe there is something holy about being completely intertwined with everything and everyone surrounding you.”
― Sonora Reyes, The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar

“And as your body begins to feel like a home, your courage grows. It grows bigger than you mother's chastisement in the parking lot after the service the first time you go to church unbound. She asks why you aren't wearing a girdle, why you aren't sucking in the way she taught you thirty years ago, and how dare you come into the house of the Lord that way. Your mother, who complains of women in the church nowadays committing the sin of visible panty lines, reminds you that she raised you better than this.

And you say, 'I'm tired of holding my breath.' Then you promise you won't come to church that way again. And you'll keep your word because you won't go to church again at all.”
― Deesha Philyaw, The Secret Lives of Church Ladies

“It’s not a gang. It’s a promise. You just promise to love trans girls above all else. The idea—although maybe not the practice—is that a girl could be your worst enemy, the girl you wouldn’t piss on to put out a fire, but if she’s trans, you’re gonna offer her your bed, you’re gonna share your last hormone shot.” “That sounds like some kind of trans girl utopia.” I’m so rattled, it’s not even sarcastic. She laughs. “Please. You’ve met a trans woman before, right? Do you think the words trans women and utopia ever go together in the same sentence? Even when we’re not starved for hormones, we’re still bitches. Crabs in a barrel. Fucking utopia, my ass.” She glances at me. My nervousness must show plainly. I can’t tell if I’m safe or not. “Here’s what it is,” she says, a little more gently. “We aim high, trying to love one another, and then we take what we can get. We settle for looking out for one another. And even if we don’t all love one another, we mostly all respect one another.” After a pause she says, “I remember how I used to be before the contagion. Embarrassed to be seen with another trans woman, for fear that her transness would reveal my transness and we’d both get clocked. T4t is an ideal, I guess, and we fall short of it most of the time. But that’s better than before. All it took was the end of the world to make that happen.”
― Torrey Peters, Stag Dance