I DON'T DO BOXES
no. 4: #OUTerSpace
by queer youth for queer youth I Don’t Do Boxes is an independent magazine for and by queer youth gathering stories from the southeast and beyond. I Don’t Do Boxes is a part of QueerLab, a youth-led media project that develops dialogue around LGBTQ+ experiences at Elsewhere, a living museum set inside a former thrift store, in collaboration with the North Carolina Dance Project, We Are North Carolina, and the Community Foundation of Greater Greensboro.
Editorial Team: Babette Cromartie, Tee Dubose, Milo G allagher, Colleen Gundersen, Amber Haith, Camilla Hines, Luke Hodges, Julius Ingram, Kelly Jones, Marlee Moore, Jamal Pass, Benjamin Poulos, Brandie Ragghianti, Bailey Roper, Guido Villalba Portel, + Josie Vogel Special thanks to all of the contributors, editors, and team of youth involved in the planning, design, and development of this 4th issue.
idontdoboxes.org 606 South Elm Street - Greensboro, NC - goelsewhere.org
Cover art: Lydia Henderson
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December 2016
Dear Reader, This theme came from a desire to talk about community. Not just the queer community, but all the communities we intersect with, even when others don’t think we do. This is the spot for queers often ignored, or alienated, in spaces that are often not meant for us. This is the spot for for us who crave or create “safe spaces” and discovering what those mean to us. This is a call to TAKE UP space. We’ve been inhabiting this speck of dust in the universe for hundreds of thousands of years and we’re not going anywhere (yet -- where’s NASA?). When it comes to those most marginalized amongst us, we have to MAKE SPACE for them to join us front and center. In the 4th issue of I Don’t Do Boxes, we asked queer beings from the Southeastern US (and beyond!) to explore the theme of OUTer Space. We invite our readers to trek through the infinite unknown with us and expand what we’ve thought is possible. P.S. We always strive to show a full spectrum of queer experiences, thus we want everyone who wants a voice in the zine to submit. Look out for our next call for submissions (September 2017) to see how you or someone you know can be a part of this little, gay spaceship. We want to center youth who experience racism, sexism, classism, ableism, transphobia, transmisogyny, xenophobia, and anti-immigrant sentiment.
Fdt Sincerely, The I Don’t Do Boxes Team
Self Portrait As The Cosmos
MILO GALLAGHER (SHELDON, SC) You misgender me and I take my earrings off feeling like a fish mistaken for a deer Shame seeps in like oil I am far away already I am signs of life in another galaxy I am the cold planet where there is water My rings are wide and reaching I am undiscovered still When I was a girl on earth my heart was a black hole: everything disappeared inside me Did you know even a dog can go to the moon The moon is my mother The moon always knows My friends and I are constellations keeping watch blinking on and off like lights in the room where you hate me Each queer kiss becomes a stitch in the sky’s dark fabric We can’t see you from up here You look through your telescope but it’s fuzzy Did you know one day my hands will be larger and there will be even more for me to hold Did you know One day I will grow a beard and my mouth will be full of stars
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Bubble
ANONYMOUS (GREENSBORO, NC) When I was in middle school, I became fascinated with a girl in my class. It wasn’t exactly a crush, just a mild interest. I didn’t understand what bisexuality was at that age. I ignored it until near the end of my freshman year of high school. At that point, I developed a crush on a friend, who was also a girl. I got over it quickly, but I had no idea what was going on. By then, I understood more about bisexuality. I still liked boys, but I also liked girls. The problem was how people might take it if I told them. I had a conservative family, and they didn’t understand that kind of thing. What would they think? What would my friends think? I ended up feeling small and insignificant. For a long time, it felt like I was trapped in a bubble and I couldn’t do anything about it. Eventually, I couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. I came out to my parents and sister during the October of my sophomore year after several months of sexual confusion. To my surprise, they took it well. They didn’t care who I liked as long as I was happy. I wanted to come out to my friends, but I didn’t know how I was going to do that just yet. My school’s semi-formal was rolling around. About a month
prior to this, I told my friend Tess that I was asking one of our guy friends, Mark, to the dance. If he said no, then I’d ask someone in my English class whom I liked named Rose. I didn’t tell Tess Rose’s name, or that I wanted to date Rose, out of embarrassment. I asked Mark, but I later found out that he would be out of town the weekend of the dance. I decided I might as well ask Rose to go with me. I’d take the opportunity to come out to my friends after that. Unfortunately, Rose said no because she didn’t like dances. Yep. No better feeling than being rejected by your first actual crush. I eventually got over it, and I still had my friend group to go with, so I didn’t think too much of it after a few days. A few days before the dance, Tess texted me asking who I was planning on taking. Tess knew that I had asked someone I liked, but I had failed to tell her that it was Rose, and that she had said no. This was a huge “oh, crap” moment on my part. I wasn’t out to Tess yet, or any of my other friends, and she didn’t know that I liked a girl. She also mentioned before that her father was a pastor and that both
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of her parents were conservative. I had no idea how she would react if I told her. I guess I could have lied and told her that I’d asked a boy, her that I’d asked a boy, but I didn’t for two reasons. The first being that I didn’t like lying, especially to someone so close to me. The second reason was that, in the heat of the moment, my mind went completely blank. I wouldn’t have been able to tell a lie if I tried. I finally told her that I asked Rose, horrified by what her reaction might be. A few minutes later, she still hadn’t responded, and I started bursting into tears. I was utterly convinced that I had just lost one of my best friends. Tess finally responded by apologizing that Rose had said no. In turn, I frantically apologized for potentially freaking her out. She was confused by this, and after several minutes of trying to figure out what to say, I decided to throw in the towel. I told her that I had liked Rose for a while and that I was afraid to tell anyone else. Tess ended up taking it well. She messaged me back, saying that no matter whom I liked, it wouldn’t change how she thought of me. I felt a huge weight being lifted from my back. It felt so good to be open with a friend about such a big part of myself. I then clarified with her that I was bisexual, worried about what she might say. She responded by assuring me
that she wasn’t weirded out by this revelation. When I didn’t respond, Tess said, “Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to judge you.” I stared at the message and started crying again. Not because I was still sad, but because Tess had been so accepting. She was the first of my friends that I had come out to, and I was so glad that I finally got it off my chest with her. When I saw her the next day, I was happy to find that she still thought of me the same way she always had. I could feel the bubble starting to dissipate around me. A few months later, my mother’s sister and brother in law came to visit us. During the last night of their visit, I decided to come out to my Aunt Sarah. The first thing Sarah said to me was, “I’m just going to be praying that you’re not.” My heart dropped into my stomach. This was exactly what I was afraid of. How dare she say something so atrocious and expect me to be okay with it? More so, how could a member of my family be so in denial about me? Sarah came up to my room a few hours later and tried to explain herself. When I offered to come out to my uncle, she warned me not to. The gist of her explanation was that my uncle had been
suffering from depression for years, and if he knew that I was bi, I would only make it worse. She then went on to compare that with my dad’s depression, as if she were blaming me for it.
was the case. I assume Tess had asked our friend without giving my specific sexuality away. This friend asked Chloe, who explained to her that we weren’t dating, and that she was straight.
I eventually felt my old fear of the world crawling up my back. The bubble came back and it was smaller than ever. I kept quiet for a long time after that night.
Chloe and our friend must have thought it was funny, and in hindsight, it actually was. Truth be told, I suspected that people might think that we were dating, but I didn’t care.
At the start of junior year, I was encouraged by my mom to join my school’s gay-straight alliance. Eventually, I ended up being able to be more open about myself around those people. Thankfully, I was able to regain a bit of comfort with myself, and gained a bit of courage to come out to a few people. In March during that year, I decided to take one of my friends, Chloe, to the very same semi-formal that I had asked Rose to the year prior – Rose had since moved. Chloe went to my school during my sophomore year, but transferred to a performing arts school for our junior year. She had wanted to go to the dance the year before, but she wasn’t able to. She was also having boy trouble at the time, and I figured she could use some girl time. Tess was there as well, with her boyfriend, Andrew. Tess must have seen Chloe and me together and thought, “Hmm, are they dating?” She asked a mutual friend if that
Chloe and I were both tired from dancing so we decided to step outside. I took the opportunity to come out to her. I assured her that I was still the same person I always was, and told her that I was bisexual. Chloe ended up being completely accepting about it. I’d tried to come out to her before, but she was more religious at the time and I held myself back. She has since converted from Mormon to agnostic, and she was much more open-minded about it. As time passes, I’m taking my time telling people about who I am. The bubble is slowly getting bigger as I’m becoming more and more comfortable with myself. More people in my life know about me by now: some of my close friends, family friends, the kids in gaystraight alliance, and a handful of girls on my lacrosse team. They were all okay with me and I’m taking opportunities to break out of my shell, if and when I can. Eventually, there won’t be any more bubble. Just my own space.
Tee Dubose (Greensboro, NC) Somedays
Does She Know I’m Trans? JERMANNI E.S. COOPER (ROCKY MOUNT, NC) Does she know Does she know Does she know!... that I am trans. We sit there looking at each other through a tiny glass screen. I’m falling for her every time she talks, every time she talks every time she thinks something I do is funny. Laughing at my stupidity because she thinks it’s cute. Does she know, Does she know, does she know!... That I am trans How do you fall so close to a person, then realize you have to tell them what’s really up with you. Why you’re depressed, why your Ribcage feels broken, or why you have to stab yourself with a needle each week. Does she know, does she know!.... That I am trans. I just sit there thinking to myself how do you tell someone like that, that you’re trans. Someone who seems to be in love with boys. Then she sees me, who appears to be a cis guy because I pass apparently so well... to her beautiful eyes. With each day the closer we get, I’m falling apart because I know. I know I want her more, but I have something to get off my chest, something to confess Something to confess... to her. All that flows through my mind is... Does she know? Does she know?.... That I am trans. The other day.... the other day when we were on video chat. I told her... I loved her. And the day before that... I confessed I confessed that I was crushing.. on her that is. The moment when she told me she loved me back. It felt like my whole world had stopped.
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At the time I was in a relationship that was out of wack. Out of wack, torn and broken. Then the more I hang with her, I’m happy but I can’t! I can’t stop thinking that this is going to end badly. Because sadly... she is not aware. Aware of who I am. Does she know, does she know, does she know..... That I AM TRANS. So we’re talking once again inside that tiny screen. Smiling.... smiling at one another than we decide to plan a trip to meet. We’re not dating yet, but I know... it’s just a matter of time before.. before we’re under the covers cuddling . Then she’ll reach over... tugging and tugging on my shirt. She has no idea that I am trans and what is hidden under these clothes. I’m not going to lie, my sex drive’s insane, but dang how do I tell her? Does she know that I am trans? She has no clue, or am I really sure ? September 29. I asked her out after writing her a sweet letter I asked her to be mine. Of course she says yes because at this point after she said she loved me too it was only a matter of time. A matter time before I would be calling her my girlfriend. I’m stuck, trapped because... because now I have to tell her. Telling her that I am trans, more like telling her I’m freaking out. She’ll never date me after this. But, at least I can say she was my gf for about a day. Then I got big news. News that I would die for. Something hit me hard, so hard that it made me move. I jumped to my feet after hearing these words. I was soo excited, but.... but The question is, the question still remains Does she know that I am trans?..... Yes and she still loves me.
For a Good Time Call Economic Structures of the Mongolian People’s Republic MICHAEL G. WILLIAMS (DURHAM, NC) I’m going to tell you a secret. I was a college undergraduate in the 1990’s. (That’s not the secret.) I don’t mean the early or late ‘90s, I mean the whole ‘90s. I wasn’t a disciplined student, but I was enthusiastic. I had a too-active interest in too many academic subjects. I changed my major eight or ten times and completed 90% of most of them before my advisor sprang graduation on me as a trap. She called me to her office and told me I was graduating that semester, come hell, high water, or hand grenades. I said I couldn’t possibly get into the classes I needed, nearly four weeks into the new semester, but she smiled and said, “I’ve registered you. Here’s your schedule. Go to class. Get passing grades. Then never, ever come back.” I loved being somewhere the only mission was to learn. I would go
to the libraries – we had separate graduate and undergraduate libraries, but anyone could go to either – and spend hours reading random books. I would go the library to work on homework for Group Motion Theory (mathematics) and six hours later I had opinions about the insurance industry during Prohibition. (No joke. It inspired me to write a novel about a gay mystery-solving insurance salesman.) Part of the appeal, of course, was distraction. I didn’t want to do Group Motion Theory homework. The rest of what drew me to the library, though, was that the graduate library in particular was this vast space of freely available knowledge remaining obscured – remaining effectively secret – only because there was so much of it. But it was right there! They didn’t check student ID’s until you tried to take a book out. Were they
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content just to read, anyone could go read all day long. No one would ever bat an eye.
in the open, there to be seen by anyone who went to that floor, to that bathroom, to that stall.
Yet hardly anyone did.
I immediately wrote down some of the call numbers and went to those books. They were all the driest of the dry: bound volumes of decades-old academic journals, books not checked out in twenty years. They were perfect hiding places for the sheets of notebook paper tucked inside their front covers, sometimes farther back in the text.
It was during one of those “study sessions” that I discovered the secret I now tell you. On the top floor of the graduate library, in the men’s room, in the very last stall, on the thin strips of grout between the tiles, were written numbers. These were not phone numbers. These were call numbers. They were the numbers for books. If you’re familiar with the concept of the Dewey Decimal system, you’ll already know what I mean by “call numbers.” The library didn’t use Dewey Decimal, it used its own in-house taxonomy, but the concept is the same: different types of volumes and categories of study were organized into a numerical system. Texts in anthropology might all be between 120 and 125, putting them in one area, whereas music history might be the 330’s, Japanese Imperial textile manufacturing from 551.2 to 551.4, and so on. The numbers in the grout were those kinds of numbers. I realized immediately I had stumbled onto some sort of secret, but one hanging right out
On them were handwritten missives: 5th year senior seeks closeted athlete to date. Or: Graduate student undergraduate to weekends.
needs “tutor”
an on
Another: Married professor seeks peer. And another: Sophomore wants to meet here, nights, fall ’93. It wasn’t the fall semester of 1993. It was later than that. His note sat unanswered for years. Not all were so unlucky. Some notes carried on whole conversations in two styles of handwriting, or three, or four, or more. Some leveled up from a message to a bulletin board. Some notes had been going for years.
Not all were so unlucky. Some notes carried on whole conversations in two styles of handwriting, or three, or four, or more. Some leveled up from a message to a bulletin board. Some notes had been going for years. On the graduate library bathroom wall, I found Craigslist from before Craigslist existed. I was out as an undergraduate. I was way out. If I were any more out I’d need a spacesuit. I was active in the high-profile queer group on campus. I was one of the few writers for our queer monthly magazine willing to appear in the staff photo. I chanted, fist in the air, in pride marches. I wore queer tee shirts. There were a lot of us. We were on a college campus at a time when queer student activism experienced a boom. People were actively encouraged to come out. Visibility was important, politically and socially, to counter all the hate and fear. AIDS was being used against us and the fearlessness of coming out was that much more important when many people were still dying and all of us were scared. The conventional wisdom among the activists I knew at the time was that it was better to come out than to stay in, no matter what.
These days the conventional wisdom is different. There is a lot more allowance made for the fact not everyone can come out. This was a different time, a time when OutWeek magazine lived up to its name by exposing famous closet cases. ACT UP and its angry queers were still around to keep the Human Rights Campaign honest. People who are made to feel afraid will eventually respond with anger. We urged people to come out not because it was safe but because it would cause confrontation, and that was a path to change. We marched on Washington in ’93 chanting, “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” and “Ten percent is not enough! Recruit! Recruit!” We were wounded and angry, and those made us dangerous. With every coming out we expanded our bubble of openness in a South that distinctly preferred us closed off. I was intrigued and infuriated by this unencrypted language of call numbers written on a bathroom wall. Why weren’t these people out? Why limit themselves to the hope of maybe being seen by someone who went to the right stall on the right floor, looked closely enough, in the right semester, in the right year, went and found that book, and wrote back?
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Why did they get to hide? Of course, I knew why. We couldn’t all come out. We aren’t all activists. We don’t all want to rip open the seams of society. Not all of us feel wounded, and some feel too wounded to enter the fray from the start. The anger passed in seconds and I was left feeling, well, not pity, not even sympathy, which is compassion for the hardship another endures but you do not. Instead, empathy: I put myself in their shoes. It was easy. I had been in their shoes before I came out. It was earlier in my life, and in another place, but there were times when others came out and I stayed in because I didn’t see how coming out would help me. So I read the notes. These were cries of loneliness by my people, and I owed them my attention. I wrote back on some of them. I offered coffee. I offered dates. I offered more than dates. I never got a response. I don’t know what happened to those people. I don’t know who they were. I don’t know if they’re now out or if they stayed hidden I never mentioned the notes to any of my friends, not to my fellow
activists, not to anyone. No one ever mentioned them to me. I assume we all knew about them, but they were a secret even within our bubble of openness. For most of us, coming out was a trial. That bubble of openness was our sacred turf. It was something we created and achieved. For the people writing those notes, building a set of secrets out in the open, available for anyone to find yet obscured by all the other knowledge around it, that was their tiny, fragile bubble of openness. It was the space in which they could be honest about what they wanted and hopeful about what they might find. That was every bit as sacred. I was at a conference across the street from that library a few weeks ago. I went and checked: no numbers in the grout. Blank Grindr profiles are the new call number on a bathroom wall, I guess. I think of those people often, though. They were and are our queer brothers, hiding in the open, some hiding still. I could have clung to anger at them, but that was part of the point of coming out: it wasn’t just for me. It was for them, too, and it still is. I hope they’re well. I hope they came out. I hope they found a life that feels like theirs, morning, noon, and night; inside, and out.
720 Modes
SHANEIA (SIIGH) LAWRENCE (GREENSBORO, NC) The cause of my reaction has been following me with every breath I breathe. It is as if reality has become a wide screen epic, even though I find it hard to believe, my tragedy has not played its self out yet. There is more to come. I see a wheel turning with hope one day we might spin at the same pace as the world. We will sequence the winds of life utilizing our 24 hour day multiply our love by the track of the moon. Creating 720 modes of life. Two 360 degrees turning together, one gravitating off the other. Truly ad divine occurrence. I can safely say I don’t have reason to love less. Yes there are always the cons and pros of anything you love, But what it really boils down to is where my heart lay. As much as I may not want to admit, Mine has gravitated towards another. Its spin resembles the pace of a run away train. So as I fast rewind my mind I find a pattern on denial i cant say i am proud of Although there are no regrets I can’t help but feel my soul way to forgive is to forget. If I forget the throb that moves my inspiration that love can conquer all then maybe I can forgive my self for loving so pure.
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But, the method of my mode will have no meaning. ... It’s the way. It’s the tone that moves the heart to go where the logical mind will not dare go and even though one might hear that tone sometimes louder than the light that shines on the earth its self The octave might not be the same. The modes function will have changed and there after be untrue. So, filled with my blissful tone deafness I believed I could create my own reality. A world where everyone’s love is as full as my own. A world where there is sight at first love And the tone of reality is equal. And here I stand, singing among the choir only to find that my pitch was off. It may have been only one or two octaves off But its blend resembled the likeness of water and oil. When mixed together they will find their self unable to become one solution. They will separate, and go back to their normal state. With only a thin line holding their destiny. Within lights darkness there will always be truth. The ultimate endless blunt image of what’s real. Reality shining through all things, And without a blur of ignorance.
Coco Spadoni (Seattle, WA), Space To Erase
Interview with Playwright MJ Kaufman BAILEY ROPER (DALLAS, TX)
MJ Kaufman is a queer playwright and devised theatre artist working in New York City and Philadelphia. Their work has been seen at the Huntington Theatre, New York Theater Workshop, the New Museum, Clubbed Thumb, New Georges, Page 73, Colt Coeur, Yale School of Drama, Lark Play Development Center, the Bay Area Playwrights Festival, Aurora Theater, Crowded Fire, Fresh Ink Theatre, New Harmony Project, and performed in Russian in Moscow. Kaufman is currently a member of the Public Theater’s Emerging Writers’ Group, a core playwright at InterAct Theatre, and a Resident Teaching Artist at Philadelphia Young Playwrights. Originally from Portland, Oregon, Kaufman attended Wesleyan University and recently received an MFA in playwriting from the Yale School of Drama. For more information visit: mjkaufman.com
Bailey Rooper: What are your pronouns? MJ Kaufman: He or They. In writing I tend to prefer they. B: Cool. Why the difference in writing? MJ: Because I feel like when people see me and they hear my voice and they use “he” or “they,” it’s an experience of gender nonconformity. But in writing “he” kind of gets flattened into neutral and I wanna preserve the gender nonconformity of my identity in print. B: So how do you identify? MJ: I would usually choose the label trans. I like other labels like genderqueer, trans-masculine, and gender nonconforming. I don’t always go for the non-binary ones or a-gender but I feel it’s a continuous umbrella. B: Totally. Something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is as a trans artist, do you feel a certain
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responsibility with your art to educate regarding the trans community? And how do you negotiate that sort of educational responsibility with making the art you wanna make? MJ: It’s a great question. I would say I feel a huge sense of responsibility because in so many art and theatre spaces that I interact with, I’m the only trans person in the room. And I worry about that with audiences, too. If this is the only trans story that they’re getting next to maybe, like Caitlyn Jenner or an episode of Transparent, what is the message that this is providing? That level of responsibility can be huge and silencing because there’s just no way I can represent the full spectrum of trans experiences. I can only tell my own story. I definitely go back and forth between writing something that I feel like is written for my community, who has a certain lens and a certain shared queer consciousness, sense of queer time, and queer aesthetics, and queer life cycles that are different from straight, cis gender, and normative family life cycles. Other things I’m writing are definitely meant to push mainstream theatre audiences which is who most theatre audiences are right now. And so we can have one character and they have to really over-explain
themselves and I’ll do these like formal acrobatics to make it not be pedantic or whatever. And have it seem like it’s funny or organic to the character. But actually, what I would love to be able to write more of is trans lives and worlds and characters who don’t have to explain themselves. I do feel a certain sense of like, “Well I can only write so many of those plays because who’s gonna produce those?” B: Yeah, I feel like it’s difficult for me to make work right now that isn’t rooted in identity, but that I’m still satisfied with at the same time. I feel like I should be able to make art about anything ya know? I can’t decide if I feel that that is confining or not. MJ: Totally. Yeah. I feel like you have to dig into how the muses are speaking to you at any one moment, like if that, ya know, burn that fuel till it runs out. B: As a person who uses gender neutral pronouns, or just isn’t cis-gender I can testify to being misgendered pretty much daily. What do you think is the best way to handle correcting people on pronouns in a helpful way? MJ: I tend to take a full on empowerment lens with that of like, “What do you need to feel safe and comfortable?” And sometimes that means correcting people, and sometimes it doesn’t. There’s no need to be consistent,
to take care of their feelings. A lot of times you correct (people), and then sometimes they won’t apologize to you for an hour afterwards and you’re like, “Uh-uh, that’s not what I’m here to do.” B: Right. MJ: So I would say if you want to correct them, do. Sometimes depending on who I’m working with, I’ll correct every time. And sometimes that means that they’ll get it, and sometimes it doesn’t. Some people, like I was just working with a director who I really loved, who was a really great director, and he almost never got my pronouns right. And I just couldn’t correct him very often because it just kinda hurt. I was just like, “I’m just gonna pretend that didn’t happen, I’m just gonna move forward, and we’re just gonna do business. We’re gonna do this play, and I’m not gonna think too hard about what it means that you can’t change that in your head about how you think of me.” Some people would say, “Speak up more often,” but I really think it’s: “What do you need?” There’s no demand that you be the same consistent person everywhere you go. You could enter a space, be having a hard day, and decide, “I’m not gonna correct anyone today. I’m just gonna leave this party early.” Or you could enter a space and every time someone does it wrong, you correct them.
I think it’s helpful when people correct themselves. If I’ve heard anyone correct themselves then I’ll definitely correct them every time. B: Something I experience a lot with correcting people on pronouns is the immediate response of: “Oh, I’m sorry I’m from a different generation!” Like that is a justifiable excuse. Is that something you have experienced a lot and how do you handle that? MJ: The people who get my pronouns right are definitely not consistent across age. There’s older people who get my pronouns right, and there’s way younger people who don’t. Like four year olds often are pretty gender binary because that’s developmentally what they’re working out. And sometimes teenagers will be really disrespectful because they’re in a judgemental period where they’re working that out, you know? So I don’t get this generational thing like.... Trans people have always been here even when we weren’t queering language in the way we are now. We were doing it in other ways. And you not wanting to work on that, that’s your loss. I don’t care about people messing up or taking longer to get it right. I feel like that process is really beautiful, actually. Showing someone you’re learning or living in the incorrect and stumbling places of our language- that’s
places of our language- that’s powerful.
or how would you define a safe space?
That undoes the way that we think and the way that we interact and communicate, and it’s not like I’m hurt when someone messes up my pronouns and corrects themselves. I want them to do that, and I don’t want them to be making excuses. Like that excuse, “I’m from another generation...” Well, you just made all the trans people in your generation invisible. And there are them.
MJ: I mean, definitely bathrooms. Definitely how people are talking to me and about me.
B: Do you have any LGBTQ+ role models or artists that you really look up to? MJ: Yeah! The person who taught me playwriting is a playwright named Paula Vogel who’s queer and pretty genderqueer although I think she’d probably choose the label “butch.” I really look up to her and she has really inspired me. I really love and feel inspired by Taylor Mack, um, I mean, I feel really inspired by a lot of my peers who are making really exciting beautiful things like Becca Blackwell, Will Davis, Azure Osburn-Lee, Star Amerasu, Dark Matter- there’s so many incredible contemporary trans artists working across media. Buzz Slutzky. Some of these are my friends and I get inspired by them, to share with them, and that’s just such a gift. B: What do you feel that you need in order to feel safe in a space
What really helps me feel safe is when I see other expressions of gender nonconformity. I think a lot of times in a theatre I’ll just see from outside that the lobby is full of people in high heels and long coats, and I’m like, “Who are these people? Is there space for me here?” You can’t always see who someone is or the extent of their gender journey from how they look on the outside... but mostly you can so. In general, I’d say that in theatre I don’t see gender nonconformity on stage or in the audience or in the lobby. Even though now a lot of theatres have started to put up a little sign about their bathrooms, that doesn’t just cancel out huge structural issues of you not creating work for or by the (trans) community. That safety has to come from that kind of structural change of: “How are you building the space?” And “Who are you building it for?” If that is including trans people and gender nonconforming people you can see it in who’s there and what’s going on there. If it’s not, and it’s like you’re just trying to include us? I don’t know it’s kind of a little tag- a little after thought, you know?
QueerLab partnered with We Are North Carolina to elevate queer narratives affected by HB2.
This page and the next: Graham Morrison (Charlotte, NC) | @wearenc | Bye Pat McCrory!
Divine MAYA RIZK (TUCSON, ARIZONA) do you know what a human being is it’s conserving every last living inch of yourself until what remains is the virtual embodiment of your human spirit as a person as a person its undeniable that what will be left is the tragic skeleton of a soul i am not a writer i am not a person i am an idea that works its ways into my lovers dreams i am the delirium that keeps you up at night a human being is the bitter end to a soft beginning a solid worshipping of everything we hold dear every bug and blister we find disgusting take it and take it and take it its not like it’ll ever run out i am not a woman i am not a dream i am a single drop of creativity that fell upon the earth many millions of years ago this is nothing new i will sit up all night if it means you’ll hold me again my back will hurt for years its not like i’ll feel it the way i did then you are a human and it’s shining through every move that you make it’s not enough for me i want the core the creepy the careless i’m sick of you telling me you want me when all i want is the bitter bitter end
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i am that sun spot in the center of your eye that never goes away i’m sick of words like ‘want’ although they give me pleasure when i repeat them in her ear i’ve been playing this game for years darling and frankly my dear i don’t give a damn my personal mona lisa is hanging on my bedroom wall and it sure as shit won’t make me a better artist do you know what a human being is it is the bitter end to a soft beginning it takes and takes and takes but that is not enough when i am only a concept rather than a dream it’s easier to hope for something easier when all i can think about is the royal we with every you, she, and he in-between
I D o n t d o B o x e s I D o n t d o B o x
My Gender Today SARAH CORNETT (SACRAMENTO, CA)
It’s on sale A buy one, get one free
Hymn To Life LIZZY FRANCIS (BROOKLYN, NY) It rained today, a big one. The kind that cracks the linoleum sky, clouds like pipes bursting through the ceilings until God turns the water to the house off. I should clarify: I probably don’t believe in God, but I don’t like to state absolutes. To re-visit: my mom says I only make declarative statements. Will consider this idea later, maybe while stationary on the elliptical at my gym, one-room, un-air conditioned, crawling with red mites that I looked up on the internet when I found them on the asphalt of my deck. They eat plants, and I’m growing five! I’ve never grown anything. Imagine my surprise, on an afternoon of wage labor in a sandwich shop inundated with mayonnaise and white Brooklyn moms with voices higher pitched than their own children, to find life, budding on a deck covered in beer cans, sunbleached, 365 days in the sun. I think this neighborhood was once darker, but my people came and pillaged it, like they did all things. And now they want mayonnaise enemas and pickled kale sandwiches, and to sound five years old. The feminist in me thinks, “Any woman can have any voice they want,” and I’m thinking of riptides, like the real thing, and the intense fear of drowning, tasting blood in my lungs, my eyeballs bulging out from my skull, terrified. I am not scared of the rain, but I still pulled my plants underneath an awning, afraid they would drown. I think most babies are ugly. I don’t feel guilty about this, but wonder if I should. Every once in a while I consider what it means that I was born with these tadpoles, half-souls, nebulous cells in my belly, and now they’re getting more and more stale, but it doesn’t push me to make child. My love sits across from me and wears a Mountain Dew t-shirt in our friend’s place on Delancey. When the train across the platform exits the station, the rhythm of its underbelly hitting the spokes makes a sound like this: kadunkunk, kadunkunk, kadunkunk. Go ahead, try it. It is late May already, and cold. The swelling grey of the late afternoon let me sleep ‘til one, a mistake that my own body. I wonder if my bones are hurtling through time faster than my brain is. When we make love, my Liam and I, my hips creak and ache, as though I were eighty years old already, with the hunger of a never satisfied lion cub. Sometimes we bite and yelp like puppies. My calves, too, are too tight, my muscles revealing me for what I really am on the inside
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– a type A personality. It feels hard to say this, a confession of sorts, a lot like saying, “I don’t like slam poetry,” or “Maybe 9/11 was an inside job,” the kind of confession that makes everyone look at you differently. Once, as a child, wanting desperately to be more adult, I shaved my face, cutting it, and lay one of my mother’s tampons in the hammock of my underwear, unopened, not inserted. I sat through dinner at the kitchen table, acutely aware of my own womanhood, feeling the beginnings of budding tissue on my hips. I am 21 and still laugh
every time I hear the word “duty.” Today, on account of sleeping in, I am going to be late to therapy, but for once, I don’t feel all that bad about it. As much as it rains from the sky, I wonder how much more my eyes drip, faulty faucets, weak and sad. I wonder the first time I cried in front of you, and I can’t remember, except I can remember the first time I really held back tears, before we were in love, and we were in my bed, my eyes stinging with your cum, and you told me, “I always end up disappearing,” or maybe you said, “I don’t get close to people because I’m afraid I’ll disappear,” but either way, it felt like a blow to the chest, and I kept my eyes closed tight, until the moment I had to ask you what you were to me. What amazes me most about music, I think, is how it defines periods of time. Every time I hear Gucci Mane I remember being 18 in Texas with my best friend, driving around East Dallas, blasting ninety seven point nine the beat the hip hop station, unfeeling of the inescapable tethers of fate, which were pressing bags under our eyes already. Denim shirts and over-tweezed- eyebrows, my life then was not any more or less difficult than it is now. I do not believe age makes things more complicated. I believe that life is hard all the time. Sometimes, the weight of those burdens begin to crush me and I’m not sure I have a way out. People who say time is a construct are dead wrong. The seasons change, the hours come and go. People die. People live, too: warm weather in New York brings the hibernating bodies out of their caves, makes me remember how many people really live here. There is no space, just pockets of distance between bodies, and Iweave in and out of them like a metaphor hopefully better than a street rat. Like a hummingbird. Tiny beating heart, addicted to sugar. So much space for the hummingbird. Then again, I try not to think about space, which makes me feel even more small, because I like the idea of being important in some way. It’s the self- centered human in me, the small part of me that exists in all of us, and was surely crying out when Ptolemy posited that
the sun revolved around us, not the other way around. I’m riding the shuttle train. My therapist is leaving the practice, going to work in hospitals. I shudder to think that after a year I still feel only barely better than I did before. Is it my fault? Let’s ask the latest poll nationwide, if they think, on a scale of agree to strongly disagree, whether or not I am a waste of space. I know somehow that there are more TVs than people in the United States but facts like that don’t strike me, the way we all can ignore third world tragedies, forest fires thousands of miles away. It rained again tonight. Probably, this poem is pretentious. Probably, I do not know what comes next, except I can say this: my friend only eats a bowl of granola every day and I am worried for her. Faces on the train, on the street, are all so common, so much so that walking through a crowded street is the same sensation as several lonely acres. Trust, when surrounded by too much life, we all shut it out, carve out sad, small spaces, once again unfeeling. I will never own a summer home, but I love summer all the same, a phenomenon I will only experience once more. I want to slap the man who came up with bottled water. It is clear to me now: I will never be Schuyler, nor Donnelly, Zucker or Hayes. In a sense, I do recognize that these hands: short, stubby fingers, big fat palms, will be mine until I die, just as they are my father’s and my grandfather’s. I know nothing about the Midwest, except for it’s unusually high membership of the KKK. I find this surprising. I remember the moment my mother told me my grandmother was raped. I was 13 in Colorado, walking along a mountain path, sun setting. My aunt was there too. I wanted to cry and my mother didn’t understand my upset. My memory wants to write in cicadas, but that is probably not right, it was probably crickets, instead, that were deafening to my ears. I am happy with this poem like a sensible and exciting purchase. Useful, but pretty. The 2 Train drudges forward, taking me home, where I will be alone for the first time in a while. This must be good for me, but feels not so, like an addict pulled from the source. I know of a hummingbird which becomes addicted to a single flower, protecting it ‘til its own death. I must say it again, because I can’t believe it myself: California is running out of water, and maybe I’ll never eat another avocado again. Thousands of years ago, if we told the trees they would be massacred and replaced for smog, concrete, electric billboards, talking cars, they would have not believed us. Nevertheless,
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taxis come to an aching stop, growling, sad to stand still. Exhaust furls out of their bodies like an eternal Cuban cigar. Once, a cab driver drove right past my home, because my love’s hands were on my pussy and I was breathing loud into his neck. Maybe then, when before we got in the cab home, his cock was already hard, I knew one day he might love me. Still, the words from his mouth, only two weeks into our relationship were a shock, like when that Germanwings flight catapulted into the earth, the mountains. What a way to die. If I die young, it will surely be by my own hand, but let’s not talk about that. I am here now, alone in my own ways, like the last icicle from a freeze, defiantly dripping blood in the winter sunlight. For that, I am grateful, for the oxygen I breathe Is my own and no one else’s. It will rain all week and I will hate it, but in the end, the weather doesn’t matter, just that, really, time is going forward, with or without us, and I have my hand in the train doors of fate, and they’ve shut on me, crushing my wrist, and I have no idea if going to open for me, but I pray to God that they will.
Untitled
CAMILLA HINES (GREENSBORO, NC) Dory’s mother always told her to escape to the ever flowing stream. She never did listen until she was in a dream. The messy crazy dream showed her the path to the pond which was connected to the stream. It was a sign Dory supposed. She planned and planned and planned but stopped one day. That day she thought about it. How was she to escape this space? It was easy. She began to walk to the door but their brothers and sisters pushed her away from it. Never did she touch that doorknob. She asked their mother what was the deal about the ever flowing stream. Her mother replied simply, “The ever flowing stream is in you. It is your world. It is your imagination. You have many siblings so escape into that space and escape from the world.” It was clear to her now. She was never able to escape this small house but her mind was the ever flowing stream. The water was her imagination. Her mind was the wind. Her brain was the space. Her body was the world.
Kinga Michalska (Montreal, QC), Velvet Bush
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Left: Kinga Michalska (Montreal, QC), Velvet Bush
Kinsey Mortiz (Durham, NC), Queer Cyanotypes
Malani Vertley (Greensboro, NC), My Universe
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Marlee Moore (Greensboro, NC), Untitled
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Jamal Pass (Greensboro, NC), Untitled
Jamal Pass (Greensboro, NC), Untitled
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JUust “HOWL” (Greensboro, NC), Untitled Featured: Chae Buttuh
Christopher Kennedy (Brooklyn, NY), Cole, My Sooner Love
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My Alien From Far Away BENJAMIN POULOS (BALTIMORE, MD) 1. EXT. PARK LAWN- NIGHT Two female-bodied people lie outstretched on an expanse of wellmaintained grass. They have honeysuckles arranged in loose crowns around their heads. The sky above them is completely clear. PATTI I say we should go home. I am so, so tired. CAITLIN I... I think I could talk some more.. PATTI dramatically unfolds her arms and slams them onto the grass. PATTI Yeah. (cartoon voice like a sad dog) I just don’t know if I wanna go home CAITLIN stares intensely at the sky. CAITLIN I think if aliens existed they could, they could be super far away. PATTI You can be my alien from far away. CAITLIN Yeah I guess. PATTI (mock cartoon voice) Yeah I guess... (Patti voice) Super far away... They lie there for a moment without stirring, Caitlin picks a honeysuckle out of Patti’s hair and sucks in the nectar. PATTI Caitlin sweetie, I don’t think it’s fair that you should be able to go to college and leave me here in the dirt.
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2. CAITLIN (mock parental voice) Well maybe when you decide to go, you won’t feel the same way. PATTI I don’t know if college is going to happen anytime soon for me. CAITLIN (distant) Yeah.. The two sit there in silence for a while. Patti makes blubbering noises, like sadness expressed by a character from Tom and Jerry. Caitlin joins in. CAITLIN Okay, let’s go. Caitlin gets up and looks at Patti, who takes a second and then gets up.
INT. MAKESHIFT-STUDIO BASEMENT Patti takes out a frame of a model horse constructed out of sculpy. She takes out a video camera and films herself layering on strips of sculpy onto the horse and smoothing it out. An argument is taking place upstairs, muffled by a closed door. After a couple hours of working, she walks over to her computer and uploads the video file onto her computer. She opens up a chat window and starts talking to “Vanessa” INT. VANESSA’S BASEMENT/LIVING ROOM Patti sits alone on a faded teal couch, her Gryffindor backpack on the coffee table in front of her. Vines hang out of pots hooked on the ceiling. “Kiss of Life” by Sade plays out of a small portable ipod speakers. (CONTINUED)
CONTINUED:
3.
VANESSA (VOICE) Hey what the f*** type of tea do you want? PATTI aaaAnything. VANESSA (VOICE) Ok- I got one. And I’m bringing it to you. Presently. Vanessa enters the room. VANESSA Yeah. I don’t know if aliens exist. If they do, why haven’t they shown up on this planet and made themselves known, you know-, explicitly? Vanessa sets the tea down. PATTI I’m starting to think they do, and that you are one of them. VANESSA Oh- damn- haha- that’s not true. Patti sips the tea, giving Vanessa a mischievous side-eye. PATTI Wow- this tea is aaamazing. VANESSA Yeah, actually my mom put this together. She’s taking some sort of herbology class. Patti yells in enthusiasm, almost pointing at her teeshirt, instead placing her hands down on the couch. Vanessa stares uncertainly at her.
Passionflower
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SOCK TRULL (GREENSBORO, NC)
When you kiss me it feels like a word I don’t know Spiraling spiraling spiraling out of control i don’t know where I end and you begin All I know is that i end End in vines with passionflower blooming in waves opening and closing with no real pattern and I’m falling asleep to the sound of space bumblebees drunk on the passionflowers pollen so drunk I can reach out and touch them and they don’t care and neither do i I reach out and touch your hair and breathe in your voice like the leaves spiraling out of control and over me. I’m over me. It feels like you’re over me. I felt like you were over me til I felt your fingers back on my wrists rough but still soft and comforting, draining me of something but i don’t know what, Maybe draining me of the thought that our love is still frowned upon, frowned upon by societies rules around normalcy, frowned upon even by people in the queer community because it doesn’t follow definitions or patterns deemed acceptable Me. A hopeless romantic. You. Aromantic. Yet here we are and you say you love this too. And i still don’t know what it is you’re draining me of. Whatever it is I don’t want it you can have it just please don’t take your hands away again I need this to know you still want to love me!Still love me. Passionflowers die off one by one but the vines are still there binding me to you. I forgot what this feels like but i remember That you can’t remember what you never felt before. I can’t remember feeling like this before. I remember you before... Before what? Before i forgot every reason I let these vines consume me.
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Milo Gallagher (Sheldon, SC)
"Y'all I can't:" make-ahead soup Make this soup in a crockpot or in a pot on the stove. Pop it in the freezer in single-serving portions. Eat covered in cheese and/or avocado and/ or tortilla chips on a day when you can’t even—or follow the “Nope” directions below to make this right now. Gluten free and vegan! (Assuming your toppings are too—just remember to check those labels.) The “Nope” ingredients are shelf stable; stock up when they’re on sale. I Feel Great! Ingredients (“Nope” Ingredients are italicized) Diced: • 1 onion (skip this) • 1 jalapeno (skip this) • 1 bell pepper (skip this) • 2 cloves of garlic (skip this) • (Two 12 oz cans or cartons of tomatoes that already have garlic and peppers in them.) 1 can or 12oz carton of each of these: • 2 types of beans (black beans and kidney beans work well) • Refried beans • Tomatoes with green chiles (skip this; use the cans of tomatoes listed above • 1 carton (32 oz) of veggie broth • 2 cups of corn kernels (fresh, frozen, or from a can) (not fresh) • Some olive or canola oil (skip this) • Spices (cumin, chili powder, cayenne), Herbs (cilantro, oregano), Salt, Pepper (taco seasoning packet) Directions: Dice the onion, bell pepper, garlic, and jalapeño. The onions and bell peppers should be roughly the same size as the beans; the garlic and jalapeno should be about a quarter of that size. This isn’t an exact science; whatever you end up with will be delicious!
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Sauté onion, bell pepper, garlic, and jalapeño with some oil in a pan until onions are transparent and everything is soft and lightly caramelized. (skip this) Open and drain the beans. Open the tomatoes, but don’t drain them. Open the refried beans. Open the veggie broth. Open (or prep) the corn. (Don’t drain anything.) Dump everything in a crock pot. Mix it up! (Dump in a large pot on medium heat- if you don’t have a stove, mix all of the ingredients together and microwave one serving for yourself.) Add any spices and herbs you want. Recommended: garlic powder, onion powder, salt, pepper, cumin, chili powder, cayenne, paprika, cilantro, oregano. (Just throw a packet of taco seasoning in there— Make sure it’s gluten free if that’s not part of your diet!) Cook on low for four hours. (Simmer covered for one hour.) Let cool. Scoop into freezer bags and freeze flat. (Eat what you want. Stick the entire pot in the fridge once it cools. Portion into freezer bags tomorrow. Forgive yourself if the leftovers end up in the garbage later.)
Microwave Stuffed Avocados 1. Half an avocado. Remove the pit. 2. Scoop out enough avocado from each half to make room for your filling. 3. Stuff with cheese, beans, leftover meat or tofu, and/or cooked veggies. 4. Microwave on a plate for 1 minute. Let cool for 1 minute. 5. Top with salsa, cheese, and/or sour cream or plain yogurt. Eat directly from shell. Brandie Ragghianti (Greensboro, NC)
7 Ways to Take Care of You Here are some more self-care tips that might work for you. It’s okay if you read one (or more) of these suggestions and think “ugh, that would actually make me feel way worse.” You do you! 1. Are you feeling yourself today? Take a selfie! Save them on your phone, on your computer, or print them out. Pull them out on a day when you’re NOT feeling yourself. 2. Make a list of your best qualities and keep it within reach of your bed; read it when you’re having a bad day. If you’re having a hard time doing this ask someone you trust to write it for you. 3. It’s okay to say no when you need to - or just want to. “No” is a complete sentence. 4. If you have a way to access the Internet, watch a bunch of cat videos. 5. You’re not responsible for educating every human being on Facebook about what it’s like to be you. You don’t owe it to anyone to be the token representative for anything. Consider this written permission to leave any argument that you’re done with. Log off. 6. Make a silly craft. Examples: paper airplane, pirate hat, bracelet, sock puppet. Celebrate it, no matter how it turns out. 7. If you find yourself not wanting to leave your bed, locate the closest surface (nightstand, dresser, shelf) and tidy it up. Tell yourself that you can get back into bed the second you’re done. Having an ordered space to look at helps sometimes.
YOGA POSES
that you can do from your bed 1. Happy Baby 2. Half Wheel 3. Knees to Chest 4. Cobra 5. Child’s Pose
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Top 5 Queer Role Models TEE DUBOSE (GREENSBORO, NC)
Karolina Lopez Karolina Lopez is a fierce transgender afro-Mexicana that fights day-andnight for prison abolition. When she first came to the United States, Karolina was incarcerated for 3 years at an all-male detention center in Arizona and spent 6 months in solitary confinement. She is known for occupying busy intersections in California, fundraising with Mariposas Sin Fronteras to pay the bonds of undocumented trans detainees, and giving powerful testimonies. In recent conversations, Karolina has opened up about the ways her Blackness gives her a political consciousness to fight against the incarceration industrial complex. Orlando Cruz Orlando Cruz Is a Puerto Rican professional boxer. As an amateur, he represented Puerto Rico at the 2000 Olympic Games in Australia.On October 4, 2012, Cruz became the first boxer to come out as gay while still active professionally, stating that “I have and will always be a proud Puerto Rican. I have always been and always will be a proud gay man.” He won his first fight since coming out on October 20, 2012. He was among the first class of inductees into the National Gay and Lesbian Sports Hall of Fame on August 2, 2013. Orlando Cruz, the first out gay boxer, dedicated the fight on Saturday to the victims of the 12 June shooting in Orlando which left 49 dead and 53 injured.
“It was a great opportunity to get the win and represent my people,” said Cruz after the fight. “I’m proud to give them an equal opportunity to compete, because it provides the opportunity for a world title.” Tracy Chapman Tracy Chapman helped restore singer/songwriters to the spotlight in the ‘80s. The multi-platinum success of Chapman’s eponymous 1988 debut was unexpected, and it had lasting impact. Although Chapman was working from the same confessional singer/songwriter foundation that had been popularized in the ‘70s, her songs were fresh and powerful, driven by simple melodies and affecting lyrics. At the time of her first album, there were only a handful of artists performing such a style successfully, and her success ushered in a new era of singer/songwriters that lasted well into the ‘90s. Furthermore, her album helped usher in the era of political correctness -- along with 10,000 Maniacs and R.E.M., Chapman’s liberal politics proved enormously influential on American college campuses in the late ‘80s. Of course, such implications meant that Chapman’s subsequent recordings were greeted with mixed reactions, but after several years out of the spotlight, she managed to make a very successful comeback in 1996 with her fourth album, New Beginning, thanks to the Top Ten single “Give Me One Reason.” Although Chapman has
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her sexual orientation, during the mid1990s she dated writer Alice Walker. Chapman maintains a strong separation between her personal and professional life. “I have a public life that’s my work life and I have my personal life,” she said. “In some ways, the decision to keep the two things separate relates to the work I do. Angelica Ross Angelica Ross has made a career out of helping others navigate the challenges that come along with being a member of more than one minority. Over the span of 10+ years Angelica built a creative design business that began in the margins of society, outside the formal education system. Angelica is the founding CEO of TransTech Social Enterprises. Angelica Ross spends most of her time these days in Washington, D.C., working in an office just down the hall from the head of one of the largest LGBT organizations in the world. Human Rights Campaign president Chad Griffin is one of two presidents with offices on the fifth floor. The other is Ross, the founding CEO of TransTech Social Enterprises, based in Chicago, and president of Miss Ross, Inc. Ross, the 34-year-old entrepreneur, business leader, military veteran, and transgender role model, was not behind a desk as recently as 5 years ago. She was onstage, entertaining crowds
as a showgirl at Chicago’s Kit Kat Lounge and Supper Club. Kanako Otsuji Kanako Otsujiis a Japanese LGBT rights activist and former member of the House of Councilors of the National Diet of Japan. She was also a member of the Osaka Prefectural Assembly (April 2003 – April 2007). One of only seven women in the 110-member Osaka Assembly, Otsuji represented the Sakai-ku, Sakai City constituency. In May 2013, after her party member of the House resigned, Otsuji became the nation’s first openly gay member of the Diet, but her term in office expired in July. Otsuji stood for election as Independent in April 2003, at 28 years old becoming the youngest person ever elected to the Osaka Assembly. She later joined Rainbow and Greens, a new Japanese political coalition dedicated to developing an alternative society based on ecological politics, participatory political ideas, and decentralisation. In August 2005, Otsuji published an autobiography Coming Out: A Journey to Find My True Self and in doing so came out as Japan’s first lesbian politician, the day before 2005 Tokyo Pride.
Resources Organizations for Youth
Sex/Health
Youth OUTRight (Asheville) youthoutright.org
LGBT Drug Rehab drugrehab.com/guides/lgbtq
Time Out Youth (Charlotte) timeoutyouth.org
Scarleteen scarleteen.com
YouthSAFE (Greensboro) gsafe.org/YouthSafe
Sex Etc. sexetc.org
InsideOUT 180 (Durham/Chapel Hill) insideout180.org
Positive Wellness Alliance positivewellnessalliance.org
Queer Camps
Planned Parenthood plannedparenthood.org
ASPYRE Leadership Camp (Greensboro)
Organizations
QORDS Camp (Browns Summit) qords.org GSA Activist Camp (Charlotte)
QPOCC (Greensboro) queerpoccollective.com
timeoutyouth.org/youth/gsa-activist-camp
Campaign for Southern Equality (Asheville)
Queer Conferences
southernequality.org
Trans Student List transstudent.org/conferences
Southerners on New Ground southernersonnewground.org
LGBT in the South (Asheville) lgbtinthesouth.com
GSAFE (Greensboro) gsafe.org
Queer Centers
Guilford Green Foundation (Greensboro)
(idontdoboxes.org/local-regional-resources)
ggfnc.org
LGBT Center of Raleigh
PFLAG (Greensboro) pflaggreensboro.org
LGBT Center of Durham North Star LGBT Community Center (Winston Salem) UNCG Pride (Greensboro) Elon University Spectrum (Burlington) Guilford College’s Bayard Rustin Center
Queer Explorers’ Club (Greensboro) queerexplorersclub.org Safe Schools NC safeschoolsnc.com SPARK (Atlanta) sparkrj.org Southern Street Solidarity
Free Greensboro STI Tests (!!!)
facebook.com/SouthernStreetSolidarity
Triad Health Project: triadhealthproject.com/prevention
NCCJ of the Triad nccjtriad.org
Guilford County Health Dpt: guilfordhealth.org
Elsewhere (Greensboro) goelsewhere.org
idontdoboxes.org
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1. National AIDS Hotline 800-232-4636 24 hours a day, 7 days a week cdc.gov/hiv/links 2. Alcohol + Drugs Crisis Call Center 800-273-8255 or text 839863: ANSWER 24 hours a day, 7 days a week crisiscallcenter.org/crisisservices 3. Thursday’s Child National Youth Advocacy Hotline 800-872-5437 24 hours a day, 7 days a week thursdayschild.org 4. Bullying + Cyberbullying CyberTipline 800-843-5678 24 hours a day, 7 days a week cybertipline.com 4. Suicide Prevention Services Depression Hotline 630-482-9696 24 hours a day, 7 days a week spsamerica.org
9. School Violence SPEAK UP 866-773-2587 24 hours a day, 7 days a week bradycampaign.org/our-impact/campaigns/speak-up 10. Sexuality & Sexual Health American Sexual Health Association 919-361-8488 8 am - 8 pm EST, Mon. to Fri. ashastd.org 11. GLBT National Youth Talkline 800-246-7743 4pm-12am EST, Mon. to Fri. 12pm-5pm EST, Sat. glnh.org/talkline 12. Trans Lifeline 877-565-8860 Staffed trans-identifying volunteers. Generally 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. translifeline.org
5. National Eating Disorders Association 800-931-2237 9 am - 5 pm EST, Mon. to Fri. nationaleatingdisorders.org
13. Stress & Anxiety National Institute of Mental Health Information Center 866-615-6464 8 am - 8pm EST, Mon. to Fri. nimh.nih.gov/index.shtml
6. Grief + Loss Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors 800-959-8277 24 hours a day, 7 days a week taps.org
14. National Suicide Hotline 800-784-2433 800-442-4673 24 hours a day, 7 days a week hopeline.com
7. Homelessness + Runaways National Runaway Switchboard 800-786-2929 24 hours a day, 7 days a week 1800runaway.org
15. Teen Parenting Baby Safe Haven Confidential toll free: 888-510-2229 Protection Laws enables org to take infant anonymously if baby’s healthy. State finder: safehaven.tv/states
8. Safe Horizon’s Rape, Sexual Assault, + Incest Hotline Domestic Violence: 800-621-4673 Crime Victims: 866-689-4357 Rape, Sexual Assault, + Incest: 212-227-3000 All hotlines: 866-604-5350 24 hours a day, 7 days a week safehorizon.org
16. American Pregnancy Helpline 866-942-6466 24 hours a day, 7 days a week thehelpline.org 17. Planned Parenthood 800-230-7526 to route local resources 24 hours a day, 7 days a week xoxo, plannedparenthood.org
Safe Space Hotlines
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