“Back Off Boys, They’re Butch!”
10 themed pin-up intaglio prints, each ~2”x3”
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Butches in grey sweatpants thread 🥵 drop them below 👇🏼
My partner’s asked me to add to this a good long while ago so here you go @broodjesenaardbeien
the goal is to recycle pain into love. to translate pain into tenderness. to use pain to build instead of to destroy.
People who are starved out of conversation will approach it as if it was sacred, people who are starved out of touch experience any touch given to them as the highest form of intimacy, people starved out of gentleness will react to it as if it’s an invasion, an attempt to break them down, and people starved out of a community will approach it as if it was a minefield.
feb 2, elle emerson (@transsextual)
text description under the cut!
beautiful essential poetry of the moment
“My grandmother got us out of foster care, piece by piece. At one point there were like fifteen kids in her home: all my siblings, all my cousins. She worked all the time, sewing linings into hats for Jewish men. There was a room in the basement with four sewing machines, and everyone had to do their part. It was tough love. But she kept us together. My mother never came to visit, not even once. Not even on weekends. And I was a curious kid, so that killed me: never knowing why. But every morning I got to wake up with my siblings and my cousins, and I was thankful for that. That was beautiful. And our grandmother gave us that. One morning when I was twelve she sat me down, and said: ‘Your mother wants you back, but you’re welcome to stay.’ She gave me that choice. And I decided to move in with my mother. By that time she’d gotten clean. And she showed me love. Way more love. Way more. Not in the way of: I’m going to give you a hug, or a kiss. But listening. Like, I’m listening to you. My grandmother was stretched too thin for one-on-one. So I’d never felt heard as a child. But my mother would take me on these long walks. She’d let me talk and talk. She’d be my ear. She taught me that I have a personality. I never knew I had a personality. It was always just wake up and do what everyone else does. My mother showed me how to be happy. She was so joyful. She wore the brightest clothes. She was like a rainbow in a person, and she became my best friend. She died of a heart attack when I was fifteen; she died in my arms. And part of me is always going to feel broken because of that. That’s the part I don’t show my kids, you know. The part that still feels alone. But we had three years together. And during that time she answered all my questions; that’s what I’m most thankful for. She was an open book. She told me her trauma, her story. How she met my father. How she was introduced to a lifestyle that she just didn’t know about. How she got so addicted, and how she never wanted me to see her like that. Not even once. Now I’ll never have to wonder. She gave me the gift of knowing. Knowing why she did what she did. But mainly, knowing what having a mom feels like.”