Posts tagged Memory
Black Radical Drag

It was in hot and sweaty venues with music and strobe lights that I discovered identity was negotiable. Before I turned the legal age of 18 in my hometown of Atlanta, I saw identity as something fixed. In gay clubs, I quickly learned that identity was liquid, able to flow and transform based off of the container and environmental circumstance.

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The Werewolf

I was 18 when I met him. He hissed. I pretended to not hear him as I walked in front of the corner store collecting snacks to keep my body the fat spectacle it was. I was beginning to shed the childhood insecurities and began walking into the flaws-and-all confidence I wouldn’t fully know until adulthood. Comfort in authenticity was a new adventure when I was 18. He hissed again. I walked a bit faster, terrified by the persistence and complimented by the interest.

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