Butch dyke wrangles eyelash curler...and likes it?!

Butch. Dyke.

Two in-your-face words that, since I've been out, I've been comfortable and happy using to describe myself.


"Butch" and "dyke" both say things about how people perceive themselves on the inside, but in the lesbian community there's a difference of opinon when it comes to deciding how much those terms say about defining a woman's outward appearance. To me, being a butch dyke means I can take care of myself. It means I feel strong and independent. It means I want to learn things, get dirty fixin' stuff, and get in your face if you piss me off or threaten me.


But there's another side of me, too. This " shake what your mama gave ya" side that wants to wear a  brown chordorory skirt... with a striped polo shirt... and a pair of thick-soled sensible shoes.... and my chewed off nails pained chrome.... and little bit of eyeliner with my eyelashes curled....


And to the lesbian community... even to my partner.... that shit doesn't jive. The skirt, the lashes.... they just ain't butch.... if I'm gonna do that shit, I'm not strong enuff/interested enough/whatever enough to be a real butch dyke. I'm a poser. Someone to be dominated and put in her place. Maybe not consciously, but that's what happens.


So I wanna go home. I want to go to the Land, the place where any woman can be what she wants, where no one questions your ability or motives based on how you dress. Where you're encouraged to express yourself, grow your hair or not, wear a skirt or not, ask for help or not.


I feel like I need healing and direction.


Is it August yet?


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