BRO. BRO. BRO.
Yes you got your bros, and I got my what?
My Girlies!
My girlies are femme / My girlies they serve / My girlies are Kunty / My girlies my world
My girlies they artsy / My girlies like fashion / My girlies love therapy / My girlies they slay
From the middle of nowhere shining the brightest light.
Those girlies lift us up at the end of the night.
The style on FLEEK. The culture they KNOW. My girlies be horny for the truth of this world.
My girlies are drunk. My girlies are sober. My girlies forgive, unless it’s October.
We stunt and have fun.
The truth of the matter, this ego undone!
We are flawed. We are Human. We are we. Don’t get mad. Dressed in Margiela. Couture just for fun. Serving our country. Don’t wanna be sad.
To Be can be difficult but with your girlies we stable.
Look out for one another or no place at the table.
We hug and we kiki. Eating bougie dinners on the daily.
Some of us broke. Some of us rich.
Without any judgment. That girlie, my bitch.
WOOOOOOW.
We really are those bitches. I sat alone in catholic school when I was young. Closeted in my emo looks getting detentions for long hair, holes in my shoes, and for having a mustache.
Goth as fuck it was only the freaks that saved my life.
LATINAS and indie white girls had my back. Listening to Morrissey. SCENE as fuck. Riding bikes listening to Belle and Sebastian ready to fight. That Santa Ana shit. That place where I’m from.
My girlies lifted me up and sent me away to CHI TOWN.
Where I met more girlies who showed me around.
Popping bottles in abandoned churches. Hairy tittied with my dress on. Throwing parties in Dungeons. Fighting Witch House boys. Straight up fucking around. Chilling with icons. Ice cold beers during blizzards. I met my chosen fam and figured out who I am.
A MUTHA FUCKIN GIRLIE!
I traveled around. New York. Paris. Mexico City. Hanging with the most iconic peeps. Then settled in LA. Where I met some more girlies and we started to play.
My girlies are bosses / My girlies support / My girlies are baddies / My girlies contort.
My girlies are humble / My girlies have tea / My girlies have feelings / My girlies believe.
Our battlefield was the dance floor and the mirror where we dressed.
Searching for definitions that we never had to change.
Watching fallen girlies pass away as time went by.
Still empowered to live our truth amongst our beautiful skies.
My girlies are my exes and lovers. The flowers of downtown LA. The strippers at New Jalisco. The drag queens at every gay bar. The spirits my brother believes in. My dead ancestors that follow close behind. The land we live on and my parents who sacrificed everything.
My girlies are family / My girlies are trans / My girlies be cis / My girlies have plans
My girlies are jewish / My girlies are muslim / My girlies are Queer / My girlies be awesome
BUT DON’T TRIP CUZ SOMETIMES —
My girlies are busted. Sometimes they fight.
A breakup occurs and time takes flight.
Girlies will come, and sometimes they go.
Appreciative, of course. My girlies they soar.
They are teaching lessons about our relationship to earth. Breaking us down. Building us out. Water used to nourish. Our seed, so deep in this dirt.
And I am thankful to these queens.
My girlies are my chosen family.
Been there for me during deep depressions and toxic cycles. Stood by me through it all. Cut my hair. Dried my tears. Got me jobs. Fought my fears.
Styled me in the finest clothes to look flawless during my highest achievements and lowest lows.
Believed in me when I had not. Still believe in me when I do not.
The embrace of those around me I hold so dear, who understand the delicacies of life.
How the time we spend together can mean so very much.
Cuz at the end of the day we just tryna survive!
My girlies hold power / My girlies don’t look the same / My girlies are lovers / My girlies are brave / My girlies are fun / My girlies are quiet / My girlies respect /
My girlies are my fucking girlies
Period.
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