Somewhere Over the Rainbow

If I had known love would hurt this much,
I’d have learned to write poems two years ago
so that when you left,
I’d know what to do with my hands.

—Amelia M. Garcia (via unlearn-me)

So good

What we are wearing is political and has really high stakes! The conditions of production of the actual materials we wear are life and death, and the consequences we all face for how we use clothing, grooming and style to craft our appearances are life and death. I’m thinking about racist laws that have attempted to ban sagging pants in some jurisdictions or use certain colors of clothing as methods to identify and criminalize youth of color for purported gang membership. I’m also thinking of the long history of sumptuary laws, and the horrific regulation of gender-related clothing and grooming items that trans prisoners are constantly fighting. Fashion is definitely a political question.

It’s interesting because fashion and style is a site of liberatory feelings at times—moments of pleasure, mutual recognition, belonging, escape, and rebellion. But there is also the broader context of extreme violence and coercion in which we dress ourselves. There is the constant danger of feeling wrong, being punished, and being stared at. These two elements are often happening simultaneously. I think about this when I engage with people who I know are making choices about their appearances that are both highly endangering and also feel urgently important or wonderfully expressive. It is amazing how much so many people risk to wear their look. Certainly, many trans people exemplify this, risking extreme violence walking around offending gender norms and being beautiful.

— Dean Spade in an interview with Queer Couture (via besttumblr)

(via kalemason)

Everybody knows what you’re against. Show them what you’re for.

—Andrea Gibson (Evolution)

(Source: camped, via thambos)

I tried to write a sonnet, a love poem to myself,
It fell short of the goal, for
The important part sits on the highest shelf.
I can’t reach it. I can’t see it.
But I know that it’s there.
It’s been placed on the shelf because
I started not to care.
I forgot about it, so it has gathered dust.
Just simply left behind, above, out of reach.
I know what I must do, before my drive starts to rust.
I must find a way to reach it.
I know that I must.
For reaching to grab hold of the love for myself
I fear I will fall off the ladder holding onto the shelf.

—

“Reaching to Love Myself”

For Now: Words of the Girl Who Fought Back
by Anna Nettie Hanson

(via nofeedback)

If you were to press your heart close up against somebody else’s heart eventually your hearts will start beating at the same time. And two little babies in an incubator, their hearts will beat at the same time. Love that. So if you have somebody in your life that is prone to anxiety, like myself, and if you happen to be a calm person, you could come up and hug me heart to heart and my heart hopefully would slow to yours. And I just love that idea. Or maybe yours would speed up to mine. But either way, we’ll be there together.

—Andrea Gibson (via fleurishes)

(via kalemason)

(Source: neutrois, via thambos)

The hardest thing about having nothing is having nothing to give.

—Andrea Gibson (via cerebralwanderlust)

(Source: wander-withapurpose, via namemeadventure)