What if you were to challenge yourself every time you feel afraid of me—and all of us who are pushing against gendered expectations and restrictions? What if you cherished us as archetypes of realized potential? What if you were to surrender to sublime possibility—yours and mine? Might you then free me at last of my fear, and of your own?

One way or another, white people always found a way to fuck a brown woman over.

What would my body look like if I didn’t want affection from gay men and protection from straight men? What would my body look and feel like if I didn’t have to mould it into both a shield and an ornament?How do I love a body that was never fully my own?

Do these parts still exist somewhere inside of me with the capacity to be reactivated?

Sexist comments, intimidation, groping, violating boundaries, and aggression are merely seen as "typical" for men. But "typical" is dangerously interchangeable with "acceptable".

Why is being touch by strangers — strangers who refuse to identify themselves — a form of flattery?