The streets of Los Angeles
A long scar running down my chest
Has a story
Happy militant pride to the queer, trans, and gender non-conforming familia in my life, all of whom have had a revolutionary and transformative impact on the ways that I view and function in the world. Especially thankful for all the LGBTQ kasamas who make up the leadership of the various orgs that I am connected to.
(Photo via Gabriela San Francisco)
Whuddup my beloved California! I’m back for a lil. Let’s play!
My father left us when I was barely a few months old. Took my mom’s spousal immigration sponsorship and bounced. Left behind his name and his dimples. Years later my mom decided to get married to a carpenter; a working class stone of a man who liked to wield his hand on his tools and, as we would find out, on his own household. I mostly remember a blank void from those few long years; staying outside to avoid what waited for me at home. We endured all this so I could have a “father figure” in my life. Little did my mother know that she was the best father I could’ve ever asked for. Much love to all the dads out there, the good, the imperfect, the accidental, the surrogates.