long quote

And after all
these years,
even after all
the heartaches,
seeing you again
made me
remember that
my love for you
will always flow
like a river,
I couldn’t
pull it back.
I couldn’t
make it stop.
—  ma.c.a // It will never go away
Is it wrong for me to hope that we will end up together forever
—  Day 268

Don’t fall in love with a woman who reads, a woman who feels too much, a woman who writes. 

Don’t fall in love with an educated, magical, delusional, crazy woman. Don’t fall in love with a woman who thinks, who knows what she knows and also knows how to fly; a woman sure of herself. 

Don’t fall in love with a woman who laughs or cries making love, knows how to turn her spirit into flesh; let alone that one who loves poetry (these are the most dangerous) or spends half an hour contemplating a painting and isn’t able to live without music. 

Don’t fall in love with a woman who is interested in politics and is rebellious and feels a huge horror from injustice. One who does not like to watch television at all. Or a woman who is beautiful no matter the features of her face or her body. 

Don’t fall in love with a woman who is intense, entertaining, lucid and irrelevant. Don’t wish to fall in love with a woman like that. Because when you fall in love with a woman like that, whether she stays with you or not, whether she loves you or not, from a woman like that, you never come back. 

—  Martha Riveria Garrido

Public reaction to the butch-fem couple [in the 1940s] was usually hostile, and often violent. Being noticed on the streets and the harassment that followed dominates the memories of both Black and white narrators. Ronni gives a typical description:

“Oh, you were looked down upon socially. When I walked down the streert, cars used to pull over and say, ‘Hey faggot, hey lezzie.’ They called you names with such maliciousness. And they hated to see you when you were with a girl. I was the one that was mostly picked on because I was identified. I was playing the male part in this relationship and most guys hated it. Women would look at me in kind of a confused looking [way], you know, straight women would look at me in kind of wonder.”

Piri remembers how the police used to harass her for dressing like a man:

“I’ve had the police walk up to me and say, ‘Get out of the car’. I’m drivin’. They say get out of the car; and I get out. And they say, ‘What kind of shoes you got on? You got on men’s shoes?’ And I say, ‘No, I got on women’s shoes.’ I got on some basket-weave women’s shoes. And he say, ‘Well you damn lucky.’ ‘Cause everything else I had on were men’s–shirts, pants. At that time when they pick you up, if you didn’t have on two garments that belong to a woman you could go to jail…and the same thing with a man…. They call it male impersonation or female impersonation and they’d take you downtown. It would really just be an inconvenience…. It would give them the opportunity to whack the shit out of you.”

Many narrators mention the legal specification for proper dress, although some said it required three pieces of female clothing, not two. If such a law did in fact exist, it did not dramatically affect the appearance of butches, who were clever at getting around it while maintaining their masculine image. The police used such regulations to harass Black lesbians more than whites, however.

Given the severe harassment, the butch role in these communities during the 1950s became identified with defending oneself and one’s girl in the rough street bars and on the streets. Matty describes the connection between her appearance and her need to be an effective fighter. The cultivated masculine mannerisms were necessary on the street:

“When I first came out in the bars it was a horror story. You know they say that you play roles. Yeah, back then you did play roles, and I was a bit more masculine back then than I am now. That was only because you walk down the street and they knew you were gay and you’d be minding your business and there’d be two or three guys standing on a street corner, and they’d come up to you and say, ‘You want to be a man, let’s see if you can fight like a man.’ Now being a man was the last thing on my mind, but man, they’d take a poke at you and you had to learn to fight. Then…when you go out, you better wear clothes that you could really scramble in if you had to. And it got to be really bad, I actually had walked down the street with some friends not doing anything and had people spit at me, or spit at us, it was really bad.”

[…] If the world was dangerous for butches, it was equally dangerous for the fems in their company, whom the butches felt they needed to protect. Some butches state that they did most of their fighting for their fems. Sandy describes how confrontational men could be.

“Well you had to be strong–roll with the punches. If some guy whacked you off, said, ‘Hey babe,’ you know. Most of the time you got all your punches for the fem anyhow, you know. It was because they hated you….’How come this queer can have you and I can do this and that….’ You didn’t hardly have time to say anything, but all she would have to say [is] ‘No,’ when he said, ‘Let’s go, I’ll get you away from this.’ He was so rejected by this ‘no’ that he would boom, go to you. You would naturally get up and fight the guy, at least I would. And we did that all the time, those that were out in their pants and T-shirts. And we’d knock them on their ass, and if one couldn’t do it we’d all help. And that’s how we kept our women. They cared for us, but you don’t think for a minute they would have stayed with us too long or something if we stood there and just were silent…. Nine times out of ten she’d be with you to help you with your black eye and your split lip. Or you kicked his ass and she bought you dinner then. But you never failed, or you tried not to…. You were there, you were gay, you were queer and you were masculine.”

–Elizabeth Kennedy and Madeline Davis, Boots of Leather, Slippers of Gold: The History of a Lesbian Community

Because,
I will
always hope
that someday,
you will
be brave
enough
to break
the barriers
that’s been
keeping you
away from
your dreams.
I hope
that someday,
you will be
strong enough
to fight
for your own
genuine
happiness.
—  ma.c.a // I hope you won’t give up on yourself

Θέλω να ζητήσω συγνώμη από όλες τις κοπέλες που αποκάλεσα όμορφες,πριν τις αποκαλέσω έξυπνες ή γενναίες.Λυπάμαι που το έκανα να ακουστεί σαν να πρέπει να είσαι περήφανη για κάτι τόσο απλό με το οποίο έχεις γεννηθεί,την στιγμή που η ψυχή σου έχει περάσει τόσα δύσκολα.Από τώρα και στο εξής θα λέω “είσαι δυνατή” ή “είσαι αξιοσημείωτη”.Όχι επειδή πιστεύω ότι δεν είσαι όμορφη,αλλά επειδή είσαι πολλά περισσότερα από αυτό.


-Rupi Kaur

Let’s be strangers again. Like we never knew each other, as if we’ve never been lovers. Think of me as someone who doesn’t know you personally. Spill out everything that hurts you. Tell me about your heartbreaks and all the things that suffocating you. I’ll listen to all of the things you’ve done in the past not caring if it will change my perspective or not. Tell me, how it hurts. And how much it pains you. As if you’re talking to someone you thought you’ll never see again. As if you knew your secrets will still be safe. Let us go back to our beginnings. Let us walk towards the start. Let us be unknown to each other once more. Maybe we will fall in love with each other after it all.
—  ma.c.a // I love to believe that “Maybe”
  • Tracer: We’re here to stop the senseless slaughter of these people!
  • Reaper: 92.
  • Tracer: This has gone on for too long, and now you’re going to pay!
  • Reaper: 355.
  • Tracer: We are… We… What are you..?
  • Reaper: No, go on. Continue. Don’t mind me.
  • Tracer: And… we are the ones who will stop you!
  • Reaper: Oh, wow! 419.
  • Tracer: That’s it! What the hell are you doing?
  • Reaper: Oh, sorry. It’s a little hobby of mine. I hear these heroic speeches so wearily often. So I started keeping a mental list of how often I hear certain lines.
  • Tracer: You… You insane bastard!
  • Reaper: 190.
  • Tracer: Yeah? Well, uh… we’re going to… FUCK YOUR FACE!
  • Reaper: Oh, my!
  • Reaper: 12.
I never knew
how—
vulnerable
I can be,
not until
I fell in love
with you.
—  ma.c.a // Visible