Every apocalypse, even the small ones, makes us ravenous for closeness
As I transition toward the masculine, my feelings about resembling an instrument modeled after the female body continue to shift
Even in death, I can only imagine my parents exactly as they were in life
Based on what America has provided a foreigner like me, I want to believe this country can shine its grace on those who have rarely felt it
I fear I'm more like my father and Monsieur Bovary—the less interesting character whose suffering doesn't matter
Each time Elfriede is hospitalized, my mother knows she’s forever behind those bars
Rick believes I am an outsider in our Black family. Even I must concede that
You convinced yourself that super emotional sex would save you from your anxiety but actually what saves you is firm, crisp boundaries
A fresa can be a rich girl, a middle-class brat. If you ask me to define “fresa,” I’ll answer that strawberries led us to the house on the hill
My body remembers every hurt in its bones, and every slight in its dreams
I go out of my way for students, and the university goes out of their way to pay me less and less. What is exploitation if not this?
Either the affair stops, or you marry and become just another version of the wife—never seen as fellow artist at all
Thank You!