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starboy

@the-starboyy

they/them || write more. think less.

Man it really, really fucking sucks being nonbinary right now.

Thanks for illustrating exactly what I'm talking about. There's this massive fucking wave of hate coming from every fucking direction at the moment. Regular ass cis people who haven't ever met anyone nonbinary are cracking these infantilizing snowflake-ass jokes like you just busted out. Shit about "sock" not being able to do the dishes. Painting nonbinary folks as weak, immature, hysterical whelps. Other trans people memetically degendering nonbinary folks left and right, straight up insulting people to their faces and insisting there isn't anything derogatory about it at all. Right wingers spreading incredibly violent rhetoric of a tone unique to targeting the very idea of "nonbinary" and it just flies under the radar because nobody cares but nonbinary folks. It's fucking exhausting. Our civilization is descending into a period of fascistic darkness, and even those in our community are turning against us without consideration.

This is addressed to the commenter, not to OP: Jesus fucking christ.

“Everyone in this demographic are lazy liars” do you hear yourself. (This is the conventional meaning of the dishes joke: The subject of the joke is a hypothetical nonbinary everyman who is pretending that doing the dishes is a demand of excess spoons / emotional labor / other abuses of therapyspeak. The other version of the joke is “Everyone in this demographic is mentally ill / disabled / neurodivergent” (false) (do you hear yourself) “and that is grounds for my behavior toward them” (false) (do you hear yourself))

The nonbinary people in your life are in (varying degrees of) goddamn danger right now. A demographic that isn’t in danger also shouldn’t be declared lazy / mentally ill / whatever! This is anti-bigotry 101. Shut Your Goddamn Mouth Next Time.

Cis people attempting to allies, you may have once thought this is the kind of good natured trans joke that cis allies get to make — you MAY have trans friends who do like these jokes and encourage you on them. Read the above again, understand what the jokes are. And then SHUT. YOUR MOUTH. And open it again next time someone says this to tell them to shut theirs.

Because oh my god, nonbinary people are in that same situation aspec/arospec people are often in wherein even asking not to be stereotyped negatively is seen as a confirmation of sensitivity and cringe.

I cannot express how jarring it was after being raised by a "Porn Addiction Coach" to get into a relationship with a woman and come face to face with the fact that she did actually want me to sexually desire her.

Like, in Evangelical Purity Culture, male desire was basically poison. It was a threat. It was this constant temptation that would destroy everything. And even after leaving, in the sort of queer, feminist spaces i spend most of my time in that wasn't something that pretty much anyone was spending time actively dissuading me from feeling.

But my desire is good. It's not something that I'm being accepted in spite of. It's a positive thing. It's a bonus. Not even just vanilla stuff, all the stuff I'd convinced myself were these weird terrible desires that were shameful to have.

It honestly took me over a decade to fully accept that. To stop dissociating during sex and confront that I was, in fact, being a massive perv and that was fantastic and preferable and that I could accept that into my self-image without shame or self hatred.

But it's important to do. It's important to leave relationships that don't welcome that part of you. To know that your sexuality is valuable and valid and worth owning and celebrating. Because the alternative is just...not being. Either existing as yourself and repressing the part of your identity that is sexual or allowing that sexuality to exist but turning off your self while it does.

Oh don't worry, I didn't make it out of Evangelical Purity Culture thinking that girls had it peachy or anything. Our experiences are different, but both bad.

I have seen a lot of content about E.P.C. that very firmly centers the ways that purity culture dovetails with rape culture, the ways that women and women's bodies were held responsible for the actions of men, and the ways that their own sexuality was erased under the burden of being cast as the pure, moral, oppositional force to the depredations of male sexuality. This is in no way meant to diminish that.

It is meant to focus on a part of this dynamic I don't see commented on nearly as much though. In purity culture, men are perpetrators. A good man doesn't radiate goodness, it's more that he's managed to contain the inherently evil toxicity that is his sexuality and hasn't let it harm everyone around him as it naturally will if unchecked. When I look for other stories like mine, I already see stories by and for women, and a lot of them... haven't really challenged those core assumptions about men. Which means that I can't really find comfort and solidarity there.

The narrative I've run into a fair bit is "I was taught women were responsible for managing men's horrible, evil sexuality, but I've learned that we're not. Men are responsible for managing their own horrible, evil sexuality." I very rarely run into specific positivity for masculine sexuality when I'm in circles discussing purity culture, because frankly, there are plenty of people who feel that masculine sexuality isn't stigmatized enough.

So yeah. I was specific about gender for a reason. Not because I don't understand other people's positions, but because while I do, I don't see so much stuff addressing my specific situation. So I figured I'd make some of the positivity I myself need.

In short: Not dismissing the harm done to women by Evangelical Purity Culture, this one was just more about my experience as a dude.

This is a really important thing to talk about, and I'm going to add that this is a significant way in which TERFism and its attendant dogwhistles dovetail with Evangelical purity culture, ie: the idea that evil bad predatory behaviour is stored in the penis. TERFy fearmongering about trans women being fundamentally dangerous derives from exactly the same toxic, fucked-up view of male sexuality - and of male existence - espoused by Evangelism: that all men are biologically predisposed to predation, violence and other sexual evils, such that they can't ever really be trusted.

It's a difficult thing to talk about, because demonstrably, gender-based violence directed against women by men is a widespread problem! But it doesn't follow that a majority of men are bad by default; rather, it's that many have been trained to entitlement and bad behaviour by patriarchal systems and misogynist ways of thinking, which are both things we have the power to change.

Attemping to affect this change and bring about equality is the core conceit of feminism, and we can see, very demonstrably, that it works. So if you fall into the gender-essentialist trap of believing that men are bad fundamentally, whether because of Evil Biology or Original Sin, then you're not only saying that the long-term goal of feminism is impossible; you're functionally agreeing with every disgusting, sexist rape-apologist who brushes off assault and misogyny as "boys will be boys" and "men are just like that." You cannot hope to hold bad men accountable for their actions without acknowledging the existence of good men; that their misdeeds aren't synonymous with their masculinity, but are rather choices they specifically have made.

So while it's crucial to call out the ways in which women suffer from sexism and gender-based systems of violence and to name the misogyny inherent in their perpetuation, it's also important to show how these systems are unnatural: that, rather than representing some default state of cruelty to which all men naturally revert, misogyny is instead taught - and that the teaching itself, while offering contextual authority to men, can also be harmful to them.

I haven't been able to get this off my mind, even though I left my job years ago. As a queer woman, I got hired by a Christian organization to provide mental health counselling to a largely-Christian population. I thought I was there to help other LGBTQ+ people, but I also saw clients with other needs and concerns

and the straight cis men who were ashamed of their own desires haunt me

They bought wholeheartedly into the ideas that their sexual desires were inherently sinful and predatory and destined to doom their lives if they slipped up, in a way that forcibly reminded me of when I was trying to be a good Catholic girl and knew that the soft animal of my body absolutely could not be made to run in the correct direction of the treadmill my faith was yoked to

More than once I had to back up any specific discussion and just ask, "According to your conscience and faith, what would a healthy married relationship look like when it comes to sex? How would this desire factor into it?" Because it's totally an enormous question, but it also often produced the facial equivalent to a computer blue screen of death, because they'd been told so often that male desire was ontologically incompatible with a healthy marriage, except also, they were supposed to want sex so much they'd destroy their own marriages over it???

I have feminism and queer culture and Chappell Roan telling me that my desire is good and okay, and I'm slowly getting less ashamed about it. And I just can't help thinking: What about men? How sad would it be to be told your sexuality is inherently aggressive and predatory and exploitative? How do you feel like you're bringing something valuable to a relationship that way?

It's unfair and absolute crap.

ex-boyfriends and ex-fathers

oh to grieve the loss of someone

that i let go on purpose

someone who knew me 

better than anyone

someone who saw me

through and through and through

and to see his face in public

painted on the heads of strangers

for only a fleeting moment

i imagine i am the girl whose hand he is holding

her smile is jubilant

he has yet to obliterate her

and maybe she’s been broken before

maybe we all have

but i hold my breath

when he crosses my mind

i listen to my heartbeat echo through caverns

that used to contain the pieces

he stole when he chose to know me

because it was never my fault

i never thought twice about trusting him

and yet the betrayal still shakes me 

and yet the betrayal still shapes me

life grows relentlessly around it

a garden springs in harshly tilled soil

and together we tend to the places

where the dirt bleeds yearning

building our morrow around a knowing

of exactly what could have been

- *a poem by the starboyy*

in gilded bloom

his fingers never touched my springtime

nor did the oceans of his soul

his fields of wheat that shifted in the breeze

never took root beside my wildflowers

 .

our lips did meet during the rain

our fingers intertwined throughout april

 .

and yet when i imagine myself flying

perhaps upon the wings of a robin

there is no malice towards years spent building bones

or smiles fresh from wishing on dandelions

 .

i am the sunshine and the rain

i am the roots of grassy plains and of vibrant petals

i am the birdsong outside my window

in the early hours of the morning

 .

and the seeds we planted together are in full bloom

flowers of pyrite and petals of gold

explode from well-packed soil

 .

there is a body here

buried hastily and lazily 

perpetually dug up and placed again inside her coffin

ghosts use this field as a ballroom

meandering hauntingly through the graveyard

 .

if droplets from the clouds kiss his face gently

i hope he is reminded of a blushing rose

one that was not touched by midas

 .

and although the dead will never claw her way out

i find myself sipping on lemon mint water

and forgiving the feet that trample her grave

 .

i raise a toast to this gilded bloom

a spring cleaning of the ties between us

i dust cobwebs from my ardor

facing acceptance again and again and again

and each time feeling like renewal

 .

i forgive you, always.

--

a poem by starboy

an excerpt

I hope you can hear me. I am begging you to hear me. I know that you can. I know that there was always the tiny voice in the back of your head showing you visions of all the things you’d accomplish, fighting back against those anxious thoughts. If I was there, I would slay them all singlehandedly. I would fight them to the death to protect you. I hope I am getting through to you that it gets better. I look back and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my entire life. I know you struggle to do that. But that’s okay. You’re going through so much and you’re doing such an incredible job. You deserve to be loved by other people, too, and you aren’t doing anything wrong by asking for that. Let me say that again. You deserve to be loved by other people, and you aren’t doing anything wrong by asking for that. 

(from a letter to my past self)

“we’re not bruised, they’re just party tattoos.” -dodie

my room smells like summertime

even though it’s 35 degrees outside

we drove with the windows down today

i watched their eyes fixed on the road

as they blew smoke out the window

purple coats and copper hair

mascara still smeared around my eyes

from last night and the night before.

we danced around x’s living room

and took pictures on mel’s camera

red solo cups littered the whole apartment

a celebration of entering our 20s

and the intimacy of a single moment

preserved forever.

i think i’m invincible in this state of genuine joy

i just want to stay here forever

curled up in my best friend’s pants

with a stuffed animal my mom bought me

and plans to watch top gun and listen to jimmy buffett

i haven’t smiled like this in years.

resistance

this is a letter to everyone

who has ever tried to tell me

to be quiet:

“well behaved women 

rarely make history”

and those of us that exist 

between the lines

are even more unruly

you cannot tell me to stop

writing poetry

unless you would like me to stop

breathing

because you exist in a society 

that recognizes you

and calls you by your name

when you stand before judgment 

and when i am stripped

of everything i am

my essence of poetry remains

the kaleidoscope of color

residing inside of my vessel

is far too complex to be captured

by the simple minds

of society’s enforcers

so my uncontained anger

my rainbow-tinted grief

and the queerest of my desires

are the words that i write

tell me again to be quiet

tell me to stop writing poetry

and  i will stand on the tallest mountain

and i will scream my name 

let it be known who i am and what i feel

let it violate and disturb all who dare to beg for my silence. 

a poem by the natural disaster 

“i think the realization that i am okay with losing him hurts more than actually losing him.”

from the novel i always have been and always will be writing somewhere in my imagination

you matter.

According to social constructionism, you are both a product and enforcer of societal conventions. You make up society. Everything you do or don’t do, everything you say or don’t say, either maintains or transforms the status quo. And because of this power, one tiny rebellion against what we typically consider “normal” is an act of extreme impact. You change the world by choosing to be your authentic self. For that reason, I can say, with academic evidence to back me up, that you matter. 

i deleted social media. i’ve been texting the people that matter. and for the first time in a long time, i wanted to read before bed.

my morning routine

1. wake up and lay in bed contemplating whether or not to get up. overanalyze the meaning of dreams. succumb to adhd paralysis.

2. get out of bed.

3. make bed.

4. use the restroom. spend too long sitting looking at phone.

5. do a 10 minute yoga routine. the sun is shining.

6. meditate. cleanse energy within the body. focus on what there is to be grateful for.

7. do a self love reading with the amor et psyche deck. do the action on the card. mediate. repeat affirmation.

8. place card at base of mirror as a reminder.

9. make breakfast. eggs, over easy, and an everything bagel with cream cheese and cucumber slices.

10. listen to cheerful music.

11. shower, if needed.

12. wash face. (glamour spell?)

13. wear clothes that feel good.

14. face the day.

i used to hate the colors and the style of the art of the children’s books i read—oil paint that i could not touch, muted colors that i could not feel. i longed for saturation, texture, vivid creations that would make me feel alive. the trees do not smile in real life, and stars hang from strings only between the pages. i despised the eerie imagination that went into these stories. whales belonged in the sea, not drifting through the clouds. the desolate blacks, blues, and greens filled me with dread. was that all there was?

and now i sit here, billions of artists’ creations at my fingertips, masterpieces around every corner. i can control the saturation of my world, absorb the vibrant hues of the sunny sky and the changing leaves. things are where they are supposed to be. and even when they are not, there is method, order, logic. i exist only in the waking world, my eyes wide open and my feet planted on solid ground. but i still cannot feel.

i long for the ethereal surrealism of those oil paintings. if only i could find the depth, find the darkness in all of this light. for the superficiality of the world is a curse and i wish only for a melancholy cure. perhaps imagination was always the answer to anguish. i cannot keep hoping, putting all the energy i can muster into smiling and laughing when my heart is sinking. my soul, it is not a kaleidoscope of rainbows, projected by the sun through crystalline glass. it is the seductive tugging of the purple waves of the sea, the mourning of all the love that i never had but could’ve, and the soft caress of tears as they plunge from my chin. in the grim ethereal colors, i glance freedom. these walls that once confined me now brandish my expanse, an art gallery of struggle and triumph that resonates with the frequency of my soul.

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two souls don't just meet by accident.

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