New Bluestockings post!
Trigger Warning: trauma, sexual assault, street harassment.
Art by Rebecca Moore
No matter what I do, people are going to stare at me. On the metro, on the sidewalk, at public parks, and at almost every restaurant or bar I’ve walked into, someone has given me the side-eye. It was like this before I came out as transgender and it’s probably going to be like this until the day I die. I smile and wave at most passersby, but that doesn’t stop rude, invasive, and downright degrading comments and actions from breaching my sense of safety on a regular basis.
I heard one of my favorite insults of my life so far while walking from Baltimore Penn Station to Liam Flynn’s Ale House the other night. Someone called me a “crippled-ass faggot motherfucker,” and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. If I savor the bluntness and vulgarity of moments…
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