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My skin, this well-worn hide I fold into a boat sturdy enough to bisect any body of water,
was made from light breaking through my mother’s hands— my mother lifting her fingers to the sky & inventing
a story where she touched & swallowed it whole. I’ve swallowed every name I was given
to spit them back better.
— Natalie Wee, from “Self-Portrait as Pop Culture Reference,” published in Split this Rock
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Listen to me, I am loving, I am loving, I am giving so much fucking love to you.
Kazumi Chin, from The Last New Year’s Resolution in Split This Rock
On the third day pull yourself out of bed wake with a start Can you feel death’s bone milk? Good. This means you are among the living Good. This means your heart is yours
— Mahogany L. Browne, from “Do not make Grief your God,” published in Split This Rock
I speak English, and my Abuelo’s cane shakes. I speak Spanish, and an Aztec priest cradles smallpox with his lungs, I say 'Nahuatl,”'and a Wixarika mother asks for her daughter back. When I say 'home,' to whose mother am I referring? Which war am I praying to flee?
Jonathan Mendoza, “Onomástico,” via Split This Rock
I can play cards and hold my liquor because I have his blood: inheritance is what we can hold onto not what we are given: my grandmother's ring was meant for me: my mother gave it away
Nicole Homer, “The shortest prayer I was ever taught was,” via Split This Rock
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
decompress me from centuries of spanish inquisition & self-righteous judgment like the blood my blood that has mixed w/ the colonizer & the colonized in the extinct & instinct to love
— Regie Cabico, from “A Queerification,” published in Split this Rock
Here, though, tonight, creature in another creature’s bed, I am taking just a moment to be an animal alone in my own head. All while you, I know, are home, trying not to look for me, again, out a window grown so dark it just reflects.
Forgive me. I’d grown so used to being lonely.
— Jessica Jacobs, from “In a Thicket of Body-Bent Grass,” published in Split This Rock
& in the end, isn’t that what we all want?
To not feel so split? To carry an image of ourselves inside ourselves & know exactly what we mean
when we say I— . I— .
I— ?
— Cameron Awkward-Rich, from “The Child Formerly Known As _________,” published in Split This Rock
