Stone Butch Blues Quotes

Nature held me close and seemed to find no fault with me.

Who was I now—woman or man? That question could never be answered as long as those were the only choices; it could never be answered if it had to be asked.

If I'm not with a butch everyone just assumes I'm straight. It's like I'm passing too, against my will. I'm sick of the world thinking I'm straight. I've worked hard to be discriminated against as a lesbian.

You're more than just neither, honey. There's other ways to be than either-or. It's not so simple. Otherwise there wouldn't be so many people who don't fit.

Everybody's scared, but if you don't let your fears stop you, that's bravery.

I began to feel the pleasure of the weightless state between here and there.

I felt as though I was rushing into a burning building to discover the ideas I needed for my own life.

But very quickly I discovered that passing didn't just mean slipping below the surface, it meant being buried alive. I was still me on the inside, trapped in there with all my wounds and fears. But I was no longer me on the outside.

Surrendering is unimaginably more dangerous than struggling for survival.

I know the difference between what I can't do and what I refuse to do.

Never underestimate the power of fiction to tell the truth.

The loneliness became more and more unbearable. I ached to be touched. I feared I was disappearing and I'd cease to exist if someone didn't touch me.

I've been going to the library, looking up our history. There's a ton of it in anthropology books, a ton of it, Ruth. We haven't always been hated. Why didn't we grow up knowing that?

This is what courage is. It’s not just living through the nightmare, it’s doing something with it afterward. It’s being brave enough to talk about it to other people. It’s trying to organize to change things.

Strength, like height, is measured by who you're standing next to.

I remembered what it was like to walk a gauntlet of strangers who stare—their eyes angry, confused, intrigued. Woman or man: they are outraged that I confuse them. The punishment will follow. The only recognition I can find in their eyes is that I am “other.” I am different. I will always be different. I will never be able to nestle my skin against the comfort of sameness.

I’m not saying we’ll live to see some sort of paradise. But just fighting for change makes you stronger. Not hoping for anything will kill you for sure. Take a chance, Jess. You’re already wondering if the world could change. Try imagining a world worth living in, and then ask yourself if that isn’t worth fighting for. You’ve come too far to give up on hope, Jess.

Sometimes I feel like I’m choking to death on what I’m feeling. I need to talk and I don’t even know how.

Are you with women who only bleed monthly on their cycles?

When I was really small I thought I’d do anything to change whatever was wrong with me. Now I didn’t want to change, I just wanted people to stop being mad at me all the time.

The sky was black and strewn with stars. I felt alone on the planet. I was so scared I could hardly breathe. I didn't know where I was headed. I didn't know what to do with my life. I strained to look into my future, trying to picture the road ahead of me, searching for a glimpse of who I would become. All I could see was the night sky and the stars above me.

When my alarm jangled in the morning, I awoke feeling small and terrified. I couldn't find myself in my own life—there was no memory of me that I could grasp. There was no place outside of me where I belonged. So every morning I willed myself back into existence.

The shades of gender in her voice were intricate, like mine.

You made me ache and you liked that. So did I.

Since I had no words to bring the woman I loved so much, I gave her all my tenderness.

I wondered how it would feel to be touched and not be afraid.

It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one's self through the eyes of others... two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.

I’m sorry it’s had to be this hard. But if I hadn’t walked this path, who would I be? At the moment I felt at the center of my life, the dream still braided like sweetgrass in my memory. I remembered Duffy’s challenge. Imagine a world worth living in, a world worth fighting for. I closed my eyes and allowed my hopes to soar. I heard the beatings of wings nearby. I opened my eyes. A young man on a nearby rooftop released his pigeons, like dreams, into the dawn.

I hurried out to the pond to catch polywogs in a jar. I leaned on my elbow and looked up close at the little frogs that climbed up on the sun-baked rocks. "Caw, caw!" A huge black crow circled above me in the air and landed on a rock nearby. We looked at each other in silence. "Crow, are you a boy or a girl?" "Caw, caw!" I laughed and rolled over on my back. The sky was crayon blue. I pretended I was lying on the white cotton clouds. The earth was damp against my back. The sun was hot, the breeze was cool. I felt happy. Nature held me close and seemed to find no fault with me.

God,” she said, “by the time we’re old enough to have sex, we’re already too ashamed to be touched. Ain’t that a crime?

That’s when I began passing as a man. Strange to be exiled from your own sex to borders that will never be home.

Ed," I said, "I really fucked up this time" "Nah," she reassured me, "you just got a little more growing up to do." "I don't know if i can do it," I told her. My friend laughed. "You got no choice.

Oh, Ruth. I wish we had our own words to describe ourselves, to connect us.” Ruth stood up and opened the broiler. “I don’t need another label,” she sighed. “I just am what I am. I call myself Ruth. My mother is Ruth Anne; my grandmother was Anne. That’s who I am. That’s where I come from.” I shrugged. “I don’t want another label either. I just wish we had words so pretty we’d go out of our way to say them out loud.

I had been at the center of her world; she had become my whole world. As my universe shrank, I needed her to be everything for me, and in return I longed to be everything she needed. Neither of us could live up to the expectations. And yet, how could it be otherwise? How could I not sink to my knees at the end of the day and ask for her sanctuary?

Some mistakes in life are not punishable, others teach you a lesson you never forget.

When you do something out of conviction, my dear, it should be because you believe it's the right thing to do. If you look for approval from everyone, you'll never be able to act.

From that moment on I was her butch and she was my femme.

Who was I now - woman or man? That question could never be answered as long as those were the only choices; it could never be answered if it had to be asked.

Strong to my enemies, tender to those I loved and respected. That's what I wanted to be. Soon I would have to put these abilities to the test. But for the moment, I was happy.

Where do my tears go? Why is it that I can’t cry now when I need to? Yet I knew that later my tears would be unexpectedly triggered by the scent of lilacs, or the low hum of a cello.

I kept yelling at them that you were a human being, that you mattered, and it was like they weren't even listening to me. I couldn't do anything to help you and I couldn't make them take care of you the way I wanted, you know?" I nodded. I did know. And now I knew that Duffy did too.

I want to understand about change--I don't just want to be at the mercy of it. I feel like I'm waking up inside. I want to know about history. I have all this new information about people like me down through the ages, but I don't know anything about the ages.

Every day I saw others like me in this city—enough of us to populate our own town. But we only acknowledged each other with a furtive glance, fearful of calling attention to ourselves. Being alone in public was painful enough; two could find themselves smack in the center of an unbearable sideshow. We didn’t seem to have any of our own places to gather in community, to immerse ourselves in our own ways and our own languages.

I remembered Duffy's challenge. Imagine a world worth living in, a world worth fighting for. I closed my eyes and allowed my hopes to soar.

I wondered if she would have left me if there had been more inside of me to love, or if I just could have needed less.

Every day the men around me came to exercise their bodies; I came to exorcise my demons

My eyes filled with tears. "Ruth, there's flowers in my salad." Ruth smiled. "Those are nasturtium. They're beautiful, aren't they?" "Can I eat them?" She nodded. I shook my head. "I hate to eat this. It's like a work of art." Ruth sat down next to me. "That's part of how starved you've been. I think you're afraid this is the last beautiful thing that's going to happen to you, and you want to hold onto it." "How did you know that?" Ruth smiled. "I'm your neighbor. It's a wonderful salad, Jess. I made it just for you to enjoy. But the next one will be luscious, too.

I didn’t regret the decision to take hormones. I wouldn’t have survived much longer without passing. And the surgery was a gift to myself, a coming home to my body. But I wanted more than to just barely exist, a stranger always trying not to get involved. I wanted to find out who I was, to define myself. Whoever I was, I wanted to deal with it, I wanted to live it again. I wanted to be able to explain my life, how the world looked from behind my eyes.

I put on lipstick and high heels and walk down the street arm in arm with you, Jess. This is my life, and I'm damn brave to love who I love. Don't try to take who I am away from me." My chin trembled, "Well, what do you think's being taken away from me? What the fuck am I going to do, Theresa? Tell me, what can I do? ...I don't want to die and I don't know how to live. I'm really afraid.

All the girls and women looked pretty much the same, so did all the boys and men. I couldn't find myself among the girls. I had never seen any adult woman who looked like I thought I would when I grew up. There were no women on television like the small woman reflected in this mirror, none on the streets. I knew. I was always searching.

I stared far back into my past and remembered the child who couldn’t be catalogued by Sears. I saw her standing in front of her own mirror, in her father’s suit, asking me if I was the person she would grow up to become. Yes, I answered her. And I thought how brave she was to have begun this journey, to have withstood the towering judgments.

I had learned a lot in three weeks. I realized that the world could do more than just judge me, it wielded tremendous power over me.

We're too young to close the door to anything in our lives.

I’m not saying we’ll live to see some sort of paradise. But just fighting for change makes you stronger. Not hoping for anything will kill you for sure.

I've been going to the library, looking up our history. There's a ton of it in anthropology books, Ruth. We haven't always been hated. Why didn't we grow up knowing that?

I don’t think I have feelings like other people do. Sometimes you want me to talk to other people inside. Maybe I don’t have real feelings.

I wished there was someone, somewhere I could ask: What should I do? But no such person existed in my world. I was the only expert on living my own life, the only person I could turn to for answers.

I had been at the center of her world; she had become my whole world. As my universe shrank, I needed her to be everything for me, and in return I longed to be everything she needed. Neither of us could live up to the expectations.

As she climbed down from the stage, I thought: This is what courage is. It's not just living through the nightmare, it's doing something with it afterward. It's being brave enough to talk about it to other people. It's trying to organize to change things.

It was over Ed's shoulder that I really saw Milli for the first time. She was standing there just looking at me. Ed glanced at Milli and then, like a good friend, Ed walked away. I have a few mental photographs I can see in my mind's eye. One of them is Milli, hands on her hips, looking me up and down as if the bike and I were one lean machine. Her body language, the gleam in her eyes, the tease in her smile, all combined into an erotic femme challenge. Milli set the action into irresistible motion by lifting one eyebrow.

I went to the window and looked out over the mounds of snow, wishing I could do everything in my life once as practice and then go back and do it again.

El pronombre de la primera persona del plural, nosotres, nosotras, nosotros, ha llegado a parecerme tan importante como los pronombres él, ella o elle.

You were showing him your muscle?” I froze, wondering how much she had seen. She smiled. “Sometimes it’s better to let boys think they're stronger,” she told me.

Maybe that was the lesson I tried to teach myself with each repetition—that power is something qualitatively more than strength. And that the world was wrong about me. I had a right to live.

I thought about the long road I’d traveled. I had never stopped looking out at the world through my own eyes. I’d never stopped feeling like me on the inside. What if the real me could emerge, changed by the journey. Who would I be? Suddenly, I needed to know. What would my life be worth if I stopped short of finding out? Fingers of excitement and fear tightened around my throat. Where was I going now? Who was I becoming? I couldn’t answer those questions, but even asking them was a sign to me that tumultuous change had been boiling just below the surface of my consciousness.

I feel like a ghost, Edna. Like I’ve been buried alive. As far as the world’s concerned, I was born the day I began to pass. I have no past, no loved ones, no memories, no me. No one really sees me or speaks to me or touches me.

I learned that strength, like height, is measured by who you’re standing next to. I was considered a scrawny guy in the gym. [...] Yet sometimes when I stood in front of my own mirror at home, I saw a powerful me. I couldn’t hold onto the image, though. It slipped like a globule of mercury from under my index finger.

I could see the sadness in Jan's smile. "You've been through a lot. There’s some age you can’t count by years. You know how they cut a slice from a tree and count the rings? You got a lot of rings inside that trunk of yours. You know what? I think it’s time I stopped calling you kid. You stopped being a kid a long time ago.

Everyone was glaring at them. The pressure just popped those two women out the door like corks. I wanted to run out after them and beg them to take me with them. And all the while I was thinking, Oh shit, that’s gonna be me.” Angie shook her head. “It’s tough when you see it coming, ain’t it?” “Yeah,” I said, “it’s like driving on a single-lane highway and seeing an eighteen-wheeler heading right for you.

And I discovered Norton’s anthology of poetry in the patients’ library – it changed my life. I read the poems over and over again before I began to grasp their meanings. It wasn’t just that the words were musical notes my eyes could sing. It was the discovery that women and men, long dead, had left me messages about their feelings, emotions I could compare to my own. I had finally found others who were as lonely as I was. In an odd way, that knowledge comforted me.

Remember when you held me and told me you would protect me, you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me?” I winced. Milli put her hand reassuringly on my back. “What you said wasn’t wrong, baby. That’s what everyone wants to hear when they’ve been hurt. The only problem was, you believed it yourself. You can’t protect me, sweetheart. I can’t protect you. I think you’re having trouble with that lately.

[...] very quickly I discovered that passing didn’t just mean slipping below the surface, it meant being buried alive. I was still me on the inside, trapped in there with all my wounds and fears. But I was no longer me on the outside.

¿Sabes, Frankie? susurré. Algunas de las cosas que me han pasado han sido porque soy una marimacho, pero nunca se lo he dicho [a nadie]. Nunca he encontrado las palabras para hacerlo. Frankie asintió. A mí no necesitas decírmelo, Jess. Ya lo sé. Negué con la cabeza. Pero necesito encontrar esas palabras, Frankie. A veces tengo la sensación de que me estoy ahogando en mis propios sentimientos. Necesito hablar de ello y ni siquiera sé cómo hacerlo. Las femmes siempre han intentado enseñarme a hablar de sentimientos, pero eran sus palabras y sus sentimientos. Necesito mis propias palabras, palabras butch para hablar de sentimientos butch. (…) Tengo la sensación de estar bloqueada … No puedo escuchar mi propia voz. No tengo lenguaje. (…) No tengo palabras para nombrar estos sentimientos que me están destrozando. ¿A qué se parecerán nuestras palabras? Miré al cielo. A los truenos, quizá. (p. 470)

Pero ¿quién era yo ahora, un hombre o una mujer? Había luchado muy duro durante mucho tiempo para que me considerasen una mujer como las demás, pero siempre me había sentido excluida por mis diferencias. Nunca habría pensado que el passing iba a esconderme. Creía que me iba a permitir expresar la parte de mi ser que no parecía propia de una mujer. Sin embargo, no había podido explorar cómo era ser alguien que no estaba en un lado ni en otro. Simplemente me había convertido en un tío, en un hombre sin pasado. ¿Quién era yo ahora, un hombre o una mujer? Nunca tendría una respuesta mientras esas fuesen las dos únicas opciones; mientras me siguieran haciendo esa pregunta. (p. 374)

The world judged me harshly and so I moved, or was pushed, toward solitude.

She took my face in both her hands and kissed my mouth. I blushed from head to toe. She stood back and grinned at my color, proud of her work.

You know when your leg falls asleep how it hurts when the circulation starts again? I'm not sure I want to hope. I don't want to get disappointed again.

i have been locked by the lawless.  Handcuffed by the haters.  Gagged by the greedy. And, if i know anything at all,  it’s that a wall is just a wall  and nothing more at all. It can be broken down.

Hours later, I sat down wearily on the living room floor next to the flowers. Maybe Ruth had been right: being afraid to lose anything I cared about meant I’d already lost it all.

That's part of how starved you've been. I think you're afraid this is the last beautiful thing that's going to happen to you, and you want to hold onto it.

Strange to be exiled from your own sex to borders that will never be home

When my mother discovered she was pregnant with me, she told my dad she didn't want to be tied down with a kid. My father insisted she'd be happy once she had the baby. Nature would see to that. My mother had me to prove him wrong.

She began to touch it gently, like something really beautiful. “You know, you could make a woman feel real good with this thing. Maybe better than she ever felt in her life.” She stopped stroking the dildo. “Or you could really hurt her, and remind her of all the ways she’s ever been hurt in her life. You got to think about that every time you strap this on. Then you’ll be a good lover.

Yearning," I repeated softly. "What a beautiful word to hear a butch say out loud.

My chin ached and trembled. "You know," I told them, "I've been searching for you all for such a long time. I can't believe I've finally found you." I squeezed Ruth tightly in my arms as we both cried. Esperanza rested her hand on my thigh. "Do you know what my name means?" I shook my head. "No, but it sure is pretty." She smiled and looked at me with a sure, unwavering expression. "Esperanza," she explained-- "it means hope.

And I’m wondering: did it hurt you the times I couldn’t let you touch me? I hope it didn’t. You never showed it if it did. I think you knew it wasn’t you I was keeping myself safe from.