*male writer voice* i don’t remember her name. it’s not important. i met her at a record store and she went home with me because i offered to buy her cigarettes. she had amazing perky breasts. we drank cheap whiskey and had sex three times that night and then she told me she wanted to be a dragonfly because they were free. i slept with her many times after that. but one day she stopped returning my calls and i don’t know why. that was seven years ago. on monday she got hit by a bus and died. i saw it in the newspaper so i went to her funeral and it made me sad. i don’t know why. i hate my mother even though she pays my rent while i write poetry about masturbating in the shower

Her name was Dee Whigham. Rest in peace.

”The violence against our community of transgender women seems to be really just over the top, and angry and horrible. Usually a transgender woman is not just punched, or beaten up, or even just murdered with a gunshot. There are transgender women who are shot with machine guns until they’re just pieces of meat, until they are unrecognizable. There are women who are stabbed 30, 40, 50 times! Then set on fire. If you can just imagine physically the time it would take to stab someone 40 times…” -  Calpernia Addams