“What do you call the animal that, finding the hunter, offers itself to be eaten? A martyr? A weakling? No, a beast gaining the rare agency to stop. Yes, the period in the sentence—it’s what makes us human, Ma, I swear. It lets us stop in order to keep going.
Because submission, I soon learned, was also a kind of power. To be inside of pleasure, Trevor needed me. I had a choice, a craft,
whether he ascends or falls depends on my willingness to make room for him, for you cannot rise without having something to rise
over.”
― On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
Because submission, I soon learned, was also a kind of power. To be inside of pleasure, Trevor needed me. I had a choice, a craft,
whether he ascends or falls depends on my willingness to make room for him, for you cannot rise without having something to rise
over.”
― On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
“In history class, Mr Marsden asked us to write about an interesting member of our family. I wrote what I knew about my father's upbringing in Jamaica, using a word himself used - anglocentric - to describe his schooling. When my essay was returned, anglocentric was circuled in red, an 'No Such Word' written in the margin. I was starting to understand that those in the centre didn't need the language to describe their privilege.”
―
―
“Sometimes I can be walking down the street, or riding a bus, and suddenly I see somebody who remind me of somebody I know back home, and I close my eyes and find myself thinking of the sea, or the taste of grafted mango, or the smell of saltfish frying, and then I come back to myself and open my eyes and realise where I am.”
― In the Falling Snow
― In the Falling Snow
“Your hands are hideous—and I hate everything that made them that way. I hate how they are the wreck and reckoning of a dream.”
― On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
― On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
“Did you ever feel colored-in when a boy found you with his mouth? What if the body, at its best, is only longing for a body? The blood racing to the heart only to be sent back out, filling the routes, the once empty channels, the miles it takes to take us towards each other. Why did I feel more myself reaching out for him, my hand midair, than I did having touched him?
His tongue tracing my ear: the green pulled through a blade of grass.”
― On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
His tongue tracing my ear: the green pulled through a blade of grass.”
― On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
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