To love a butch by CK
I, love a butch*
And frankly, I'm in awe at all butches
I love the way they walk with a stomp
I love their shoulders when they talk
I love their hair long or short
I love that they don't compare themselves to anyone
I love that they don't care about anyone's opinion
I love that they are not a man and do not want to be a man
I love that they try hard to be the partner that does all of the mechanical, technical, and domestic things.
I love that butches are most often strong on the outside, and so soft on the inside.
I love that they have the kindest eyes, toughest arms and tightest legs.
Simultaneously, the skills to be gentle and assertive.
I love that they love me back.
Butches are the reason that I asked myself if I was a lesbian.
Butches are the reason I asked, "do I want to be them, or do I want to be with them?"
Butches: You are a rare, beautiful person on the outside to the end and inside to the beginning.
For the butch-loving femme lesbian like myself--yes, you are nice to look at--but,--you are the aloe to our burns, the water to our raging fires; you are the rain to our heat waves; and sometimes, the shock to our ground, and the rug that is pulled out from beneath our feet.
We want to marry you, settle down, buy a house, have a garden and raise cats with you.
From the femme lens, we also want to protect our butches and butch sisters.
We know the world looks at you and treats you different.
Sometimes, we femmes are the bravest with our voice--I can't say that I can kick someone's ass for you, but I sure will be vocal about it.
Butches are the quietest intensity, the loudest bat of an eye; the best smelling clothes; warmest heart; and proudest kiss-- is to love a butch.
*Oxford dictionary definition of butch: a lesbian whose appearance and behavior are seen as traditionally masculine
