… Our identification as women, that is, as complete women, comes from the belief that we need to be connected to a man. Ridding ourselves of this parasitic identification is not always easy, for we grow up … defined in a male context: daddy’s girl, some guy’s girl, wife, or mother. Vying for a man’s attention compromises our own personal and intellectual development. We exist in a patriarchal society that undervalues women. We are socialized to undervalue ourselves, as well as anything associated with the concept of self. Our voice is considered less significant, our needs and desires secondary ….
Yet an alliance with a man grants a woman heterosexual privileges …. Women who partake in the privileges of male sexual alliance may often do so at the cost of their own sense of self, since they must often subvert their needs, voice, intellect, and personal development in these alliances."
— Carla Trujillo. “Chicana Lesbians: Fear and Loathing in the Chicano Community.” Chicana Lesbians: The Girls Our Mothers Warned Us About. Ed. Carla Trujillo. Berkley, CA: Third Woman Press, 1991. (via thisisnotyourhomework)
I ask my mother if she’s hungry,
We are starving for justice
we have been craving it since before our birth
since then, my mother pulled at my umbilical cord and asked that I fight.
I have not been fed yet.
I am still connected to my mother
our metaphysical umbilical cord keeps us both in starvation
I cannot be full until she is,
biology works that way.
She sung me lullabies saying,
“M’ija tienes que luchar,”
She warned me about the men
that’ll come in and out of me
only to prove
that they were powerful enough to make me love them,
but could not love me back.
I did not take her warning seriously.
Love has been disguised as a patriarchal form of feeling
When my father touches my mother’s face
that she flinches.
When men give themselves the power to touch my best friend
because her skirt said, “I am asking for it,”
and for some reason that mute idea was louder than her screams.
We are starving for justice, they have not fed us.
My school said, I’d be the architect of my education.
I believed them.
but they gave me a brick, instead of a pencil.
I’ve been building my future with bricks on my back,
and the struggles of my parents in the fields, within my heart.
My school said, “I’d be the architect of my education,”
but I still have not been given a pencil.
And instead I’ve become a construction worker,
building my future brick by brick, with little to no acknowledgement.
and my goodness, I am tired.
and even so, I am afraid that my home will crumble.
My mother’s fear has always been
not to have enough money to house us.
but she forgets we come from broken homes.
We are starving for justice,
and they have yet to feed us.
My mother picks the strawberries they love so much
the same people who despise “illegals,”
the same people that say this is their land
with their skewed version of history.
My mother warned me about the people that will pull at my skin,
hard enough to remove the brown on me.
She warned me about the hunger I would feel,
she apologized for this.
This is not her doing,
she is not to blame.
We are starving,
but we will not stop fighting
until we are fed the justice that we deserve.
my mother will receive a plate
large enough to fill the wounds
that she’s been left with.
— Starving // I performed this for my mother (via mariposa-reina)
— Gloria Anzaldua, Borderlands/ La Frontera: the New Mestiza (via la-xingada)
— This Bridge Called My Back; Writings By Radical Women of Color (via chicanafem)
I am the swallower of sins.
The lust goddess without guilt.
The delicious debauchery…"
— (via chicanafem)
— Betita Martinez
a-la-maquina said: It's exciting to see you using the Xicana Power tag I did in my old hood in Houston!! :D Hell yeah, xica!!
Gracias! Its good to know my tags are connecting me with like-minded Xicanas! <3