Severely pissed.

I'm pissed. You wanna know why?
I'm pissed that I go to a college where a girl who passed out flyers with an alleged college rapist's face on them - this girl was expelled. But guess who WASN'T expelled? The student "responsible for violation of the sexual misconduct policy in terms of lack of consent."
I'm pissed that I live so far from my cats.
I'm pissed that sexism still exists.
I'm pissed that people do not realize the importance of intersectional feminism.
I'm pissed that my English major with a concentration in WRITING forces me to take endless classes about ancient white dudes and their religious imagery when I literally cannot comprehend one word.
I'm pissed that people continuously comment on my Kristen Stewart iPhone background saying she's ugly, a slut, and needs to smile more, and when I tell them to stop, they don't stop.
I'm pissed that people know my trans* friend's preferred pronouns and DON'T USE THEM.
I'm pissed that it feels like I'm in college with middle schoolers.
I'm pissed that I can't listen to some of my old favorite bands because there's too much sexism in the lyrics.
I'm pissed that the creator of It Gets Better is such an asshole.
I'm pissed that cat calling is seen as flattering.
I'm pissed that my college did not want a trans* woman coming to campus to speak during Women's History Month.
I'm pissed that people say, "you should expect Seth MacFarlane to say those things."
I'm pissed that I can't get married in my home state.
I'm pissed that I have to get up at 7 am.
I'm pissed that there's really no one at my school who I like.
I'm pissed that when I tell people I'm gay or an atheist, they have the nerve to say, "I'll pray for you to soften your heart and believe."
I'm pissed that sometimes when I'm in public I wonder if strangers would still be smiling at me if they knew anything about me.
I'm pissed that I get pissed so easily.
I'm pissed that I have cavities.
I'm pissed that college is so expensive.
I'm pissed at my face.
I'm pissed at my wet feet.
I'm pissed that I try to help friends and they completely blow me off.
I'm pissed that people tell me to "just move on."
I'm pissed that teachers know all about my drama when I never told them.
I'm pissed that veganism isn't more accepted.
I'm pissed that I have to act like I'm not pissed in public or else I'll get the pissed reputation and be even more pissed.
and I'm sick of being the only one that's pissed.

We Are United By Stink Bugs

whether you’re at home or in the park

you’re gonna hear me buzzing

whether you’re a bookworm or a lax bro

you’re gonna see me crawling

whether you like it or not

whether you like each other or not

you’re gonna see me

you’re gonna hear me

i’ll come out of nowhere

maybe fly around your head a couple times

but not too many, cuz then you’ll know

where I’ve ended up

and the point of this is,

the United States of America

is united under stink bugs

with liberty and justice

for those who pay no attention to us

Same girl.

Everyone wants to say that they've changed. I kept telling myself that every new year's: "Oh my god, I've changed SO much this year! I can't believe I used to be that person." But that's not true. I've been the same for years. There were maybe three years total of my life during which I underwent a serious change, and those were all normal parts of growing up. So what?

Truth is, I'm the same exact person I was in high school. I thought I would change. I thought I would get to college and have an epiphany about being a free, wild spirit who partied and still maintained cool nerd status. That didn't happen. I thought I'd be free from the mass bred stupidity I experienced daily at both of my high schools. But I'm not free from it and no queer ever is.

Just because my surroundings changed doesn't mean I have. In high school, the tree in front of my principal's office, the long charcoal-covered desks in my makeshift art room, and the guy I tried to ignore in the hallways did not shape who I was. They were just objects. They were not me. They are not any more me than my dorm room is now, than my college's 24/7 library is, than my acne-inducing queer student union is. I am not these things. I exist despite these things. I am just drifting, and objects and people and places are floating in and out of my life and I'm not grasping them because I learned long ago that nothing is truly graspable. Go with the flow, my guitar teacher always told me. What the hell does that mean?

I'm still the girl who is too embarrassed to speak up when it matters most. Still the girl who hid in the bathroom or the library during high school lunch. Still the girl who doesn't know how to make friends, only now I have lost the desire to do so. I'm still the girl who would rather hold and smell a book than a person, who would rather look at pictures of food online than eat it, who would rather pet cats than go meet someone new. And these are not things I'm proud of.

I'm still the person who resents what happened instead of senior prom. I'm still the person who refuses to promote her own music. I'm still the person who hates anyone who has the balls to do so. I'm still the one who is nasty, mean, sarcastic, and over emotional, or sometimes not emotional at all. I'm still the one who feels sick every time she eats, who dislikes everyone off and online, who has no idea how to begin or finish conversations, and who has lost every ounce of wanting to appear like I am the opposite of any of these things.

I have always been the person who gets hurt at a passing comment not meant for me. I am still the person who gets defensive over her fellow queers and atheists and vegans and feminists, and even when I know getting pissed won't solve a damn thing, it's still the only thing I'm proud of. I'm still the one writing angry blog posts. I'm still only playing nice with teachers and no one else. I'm still hating everything about everything and loving nothing about the world, because every time I do, something happens to remind me that everything is doomed and I'm still the 14 year old girl who blasted My Chemical Romance when she felt sad, sick, and desperate. Still the girl who refuses to see a psychiatrist because I don't want to cry in front of any more people than I already do. Still the girl who refuses to see a doctor about why food makes me sick because I know they'll blame it on my veganism. Still the girl who hides when she sees people from her high school. Still the girl who is too fragile to not get hurt by people's words online. Still have no idea who I want to be, but unlike my high school self, I know now that my surroundings can not influence that. I have to choose it for myself.

And I still have no idea what to call this blog post.

Not much of a choice.

I want to be what society considers feminine. So much so that people would never wonder whether I'm a boy or not. They'd see my "I'm not really a waitress" nail polish and my Pretty in Pink lipstick and my bronzer and they wouldn't think twice. That one time I walked into FedEx and the cashier asked me, "are you a girl?" Yeah, that would never have happened.

If I was more feminine, I would walk down the street with my hips swaying, my ass nicely outlined by a salmon colored satin dress with a nice little impractically sized pocket right over my right boob. I would have a brown shoulder bag that would bounce off my hip every time I stepped daintily on the sidewalk in my high straw wedges.

If I was more feminine, I would attract men with my award winning smile. Women would have no idea that I'm a lesbian, but it'd be okay because I have a girlfriend, which they also wouldn't know about. I'd play hard to get and strut at the movie theater past boys who were immature in our high school geometry class. Their X-ray stares would seep through my clothes and I'd feel dirty just being in their presence, but I'd disguise my disgust by smiling through my Funky Fuchsia lip gloss.

If I was more feminine, I would purse my lips and glue on falsies for bedroom photoshoots. I would post makeup tutorials on YouTube and people would be taken aback and horrified when I spoke my mind. People would take one look at my long brown hair that would curl down to my elbows and Katie beside me and they'd know I'm the femme to her butch.

I would roll my eyes and want to vomit at cat calls near the ATM next to Mad Mex and I would laugh them off with my straight friends later. I would wear cute underwear with bows and push up bras and I'd fill in my eyebrows and draw on cat eye eyeliner, whatever that means. I would do bikini waxes and shave every other day and never participate in No Shave November. And I would never wander into GameStop, never do yard work, never walk down the street without a man. After all, that's what I've been told is feminine.

But I want to be masculine. I want to make people believe I live on the edge even when I don't. I want to make people question my gender identity. I want to march down the street in Doc Martens that reach my calves. And from there up would be black Levi's and a blue button up with practical pockets. I might even have a matching hat.

If I was more masculine, my crew cut wouldn't confuse anyone. My showers would be even shorter than they are now and I wouldn't even have to towel dry my hair. People would take one look at it and automatically assume my sexuality, and they wouldn't be too surprised when I set my eyes on that curvy girl in Forever 21. But they'd question why I walked in in the first place.

If I was more masculine, I would be the butch to my girlfriend's butch and it would confuse the living hell out of people. They would strain their eyes trying to find something feminine that she does so that she could become the girly one. My dad would hardly notice, since he wants to buy me manly pants for the sole purpose of fitting my iPhone in them, but my mom would be crushed when I would reject her spontaneous, cheap makeup gifts.

I would get teased even more often for being vegan, because "that's a girly thing," but when people would see my feminist patches on my jean jacket, they'd roll their eyes and go, "stereotype." I would never paint my nails and I would always file them down, making sure they can't make that annoying clicking sound my ex hated so much when I rap them on the table.

Whether I present more masculine or feminine or a mixture of both, people will always try to peel off my skin and try see what I really am. It'll always bother me when I'm holding hands with my girlfriend in public and people stare judgingly, but it'd also hurt if I didn't have a girlfriend to hold hands with and no obvious signal for them to know I'm not straight. All I really want is for people to pass me by on the street without a word.

Famous

My fourth grade teacher told me I would be a famous author someday. He used to call me a perfect student because I'd write down everything he said. I was only doing it to be more like Hermione.

My dad told me I would be a famous singer someday. Every time my mom got on the phone to speak to my kindergarten teacher I'd be singing operatically in the background. "Who's singing?" Mrs. Thomas would ask. One day I was humming emphatically as I washed my hands in the bathroom sink. When I opened the bathroom door my dad was bent over, his ear near the keyhole, listening to me hum. "That sounded great," he said.

My mom told me I could make it big if only I had a manager. Just tonight, while we watched a man who stutters get accepted to Hollywood on American Idol. "You could do things with that voice of yours."

But I sit here and I write in my bedroom and I sing to my cats and I hardly ever revise or share anything.
No one cares because I don't care to let them see, and that's all on me. I think I might be depressed. And also lazy.

being a queer vegan atheist feminist in a straight meat-eating religious patriarchy

you told me to grow up
and stop living in my head.
well, i'm telling you to sit down, shut up,
and listen to me instead.

i realize it could be worse;
i know i could be dying.
but it ain't a curse
that's got me trying

to understand
how to buy more time,
how to buy fancy sweaters
that don't come with wool
how to convince people
coming out shouldn't be necessary
and intersectionality is crucial
and that not everyone
believes your god is important

why? why do we do anything?
i just want to help, like you claim to
but one of us always has to be better.
i'm suffocated, always the rioting one,
because the only other option is to shut up.
you'd prefer that, wouldn't you?

On Westboro Baptist, Religion, & Heterosexism

Where to begin? I was going to make a video out of this material, but I figured I would be more eloquent if I wrote it down. And hopefully more people view this than my YouTube videos (lolz).

You’ve heard of how horrific Westboro Baptist is. You probably saw that interview with Russell Brand. They’re messed up, right? 

We have to remind ourselves that Westboro Baptist is, yes, horrific, but an extreme example of horrificness. They are not alone in their views. You can be heterosexist and be much more subtle about it, and when Westboro speaks [some] people toss their shit in the air and scream because they can’t handle such extremist views, when actually, that same extremist view is filtered down and dissipated onto, like, all of us. From the time we’re born we’re taught being straight is right. It’s normal, that’s why it’s lawful.

Here’s your friendly reminder that heterosexism and its effects come in a ridiculous array of forms. I am emphasizing the effects because most people would not agree that it is necessarily heterosexist for a countless amount of people to glare at my girlfriend and I holding hands or kissing in public. A glance is not necessarily heterosexist. But it can not be separated from heterosexism. Heterosexism is a belief. It can be acted upon in any number of ways, from subtle (mean looks) to extreme (Westboro. I’m not saying they’re THE MOST heterosexist thing ever, but hopefully you get the point).

As far as subtle goes, I’ve heard my whole life that “homosexuals” need “praying for.” Okay. Let’s take a step back for a second. Is it the 1950s? Do we really have to use “a homosexual” to define people? How often do people come out and say “I’m a homosexual”? “A homosexual.” As if it is the dirtiest, most condemning disease you could contract. Can we just drop “homosexual” as a noun? Shit.

I digress. So why do we need praying for? We don’t. I first kissed a girl when I was about 6 years old (that’s a different story) and I didn’t start realizing I had feelings for girls until I was about 12 and I was falling in love with my best friend. This is because society screamed silently at me, endlessly, to make me believe that IT’S ADAM AND EVE, NOT ADAM AND STEVE! Straight is the way, damn it!

Recently my parents have taken to buying my brother’s girlfriend nice things and treating her like a daughter. My cousin just got married to his girlfriend and more family attended their wedding than we even have. My other cousin who’s a year younger than me just got engaged today and is moving into a house with his girlfriend. My other cousin is keeping his and his girlfriend’s new baby from his family until they get “their shots updated.” Imagine those situations with a gay couple and how outsiders would view them. Meanwhile, my girlfriend has always been “Tianna’s friend” and nothing more. And it shouldn’t be that way.

I have had the amazing opportunity to attend a college with a lesbian chaplain, and as a co-president of our Queer Student Union I hosted a Religious & Queer Identities Panel at our school. That chaplain said, “Your sexual orientation is not a sin.” At the same panel, a religion professor said, “Anyone who says ‘love the sinner hate the sin’ is just trying to excuse their bigotry.” The same professor also said that you should not be ashamed for cutting ties with people who preach “love the sinner, hate the sin.” These women’s words will stay nestled in my heart forever, because I know what they said is true, and for once I had someone voice that truth back to me. If theists knew their religious texts so well, they would know that your sexual orientation is not a sin. I have distanced myself without shame from people who ridiculously believe that I need prayed for by a god I don’t even believe in.

Which leads me to my next point. As an atheist, I am torn between anger and laughter when someone says I am going to hell or that they are praying for me. In case you haven’t noticed, atheists do not believe in the concept of hell. So, yeah, empty threat there. Also, why are you praying for me? Why? Look at your life, look at your choices. I don’t need you to pray for me. I would not ask for that. I do not need it. It makes me sick to think about. Stop it. Stop it right now. I am a queer atheist. I am a queer atheist. I am a queer atheist and I don’t need your shit.

Lastly, stop being creepy. Stop prying into my life and worrying about what I do in bed. Would you even know if I “act on my homosexuality” without me telling you? Are you imagining me in various lesbian sex positions at all hours of the day? What is your fascination with queer people? Stop praying for me. Just stop. And start realizing the effect heterosexism has on not just society, but on you as an individual.