Sikiliza

We are afraid of being in constant fear that tightening of the tummy The brace The weight of the other shoe drop. We are exhausted of catching the wind that skewered race at onset The chase A handful of hot nothingness We are dizzy from running circles that distortion of nowhere-ness The fall The journey with no destination We are in pain at the thoughts of an end that gives no say on our interment The erasure The violence of our queerness….. We will rise from the grave roving to torment your remaining days The haunt Eroding your wicked sanctimonious souls  

For many women-identifying queer-folk, finding and folding in queer spaces is so emancipating. These are spaces to finally breathe, free from constant hostile heterosexist gaze and oppressiveness. In spaces like this love is radical and nurturing and fostered deliberately to undo tightly woven misogynistic arrays – It is women loving other women as a political act. These spaces quickly become a vital life-link for so many who have are broken and battled with rejection, isolation, prejudice, violence and shaming our bodies, identities of non-normative-ness. Queer spaces especially those embracing feminist ideals are viewed as sacred, intense and revolutionary.   More importantly, these spaces are considered safe. Queer spaces morph into our chosen family, our tribe and the place we metamorphose into a validated, transformed, empowered version of ourselves. Sadly, not all queer spaces are safe. Sometimes queer spaces end up replicating the same toxic oppressions...