by Lynx M’Chea

Black Queer women are not “a new phenomenon”. Black Queer women are not your sidekick, caricature, sexual fantasy, agents of White supremacy, or potential threats to your manhood. Black Queer women are the embodiment of radical love, life, and resistance. Three Black Queer women breathed radical love and life and exclaimed “Black Lives Matter!” raising fists across the nation and held the world accountable for its ignorant and malicious disrespect for Black lives. The existence of Black queer women is resistance, not a debatable belief.

by Lynx M’Chea

As the mainstream gay agenda evolved into one of homonormativity, the spaces in which the public interacted with gay and lesbian people were forced to evolve with the overall political agenda. Lesbian spaces, Black ones in particular, were known for celebrating those who lived outside of the norms of their gender and gender roles, in turn removing especially deviant (and conveniently Black) lesbian spaces from the public view made sense. In order to justify the desired (mainstream) historical narrative Black queer women’s spaces, hidden not nonexistent, were and continue to be erased from the dominant discussions of lesbian spaces. If these spaces were considered in the mainstream assessment of lesbian spaces, the concern of dying lesbian spaces would be invalid.

by Lynx M’Chea

The fascination and commitment to the brutalization of Black bodies is as American as apple pie. From public whippings and picnic lynchings to viral videos of girls being beaten at pool parties. This horrific competition could not exist without the fundamental understanding that Black people do not have humanity.

by Lynx M’Chea

Tossing my head back in the wind, I take in the ecstasy of being neither here nor there. As the wind takes me to that place of being here, everywhere, and anywhere in between; I see that which goes unseen, I see me.

by Lynx M’Chea

Seeing yourself making the same mistakes you have made before, is synonymous to watching the rain falling around you like a sunrise. No matter how hard you try to fight against the rain it falls; hitting the ground with a sort of musical laughter at your futile attempts. Sometimes, I think with a sigh, mistakes must happen. For reasons I neither know of nor can precisely understand, mistakes are the only way I learn anything. I can hear the protests all around me. Foolish loved ones desperately trying to stop me, yet I persist and fight until I have dug yet another hole of which I cannot leave.