Image description: a photograph of a crowd of people at a Dyke March. The photograph centers on a person holding a sign which reads "non binary dykes let's high-five!" while smiling sweetly.
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Qui est l'inventeur du pain ?
Les gens préhistoriques, il y a plus de 30 000 ans.
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Image description: a photograph taken at a Dyke March. In the center of a photo is a person with brown pigtails and glasses holding up a hand made sign in green handwriting which reads "dyke 4 total societal collapse." their shirt reads "tear the fascists down."
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Chrysanthemum Tran
Gender: Transgender woman
Sexuality: N/A
DOB: N/A
Ethnicity: Vietnamese
Nationality: American
Occupation: Poet, writer, photographer, activist
Note: First transgender woman to be a finalist at Women of the World Poetry Slam
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✨Daydreaming about taking Polaroids of my future lover.✨
The first few would be of her smiling a sweet toothy grin at me behind the camera. She’s just so damn beautiful, cozied up in my clothes with her hair a little messy. I just have to document the moment.
Somewhere along the way she loses the sweatshirt of mine she was wearing. I’d hesitate, lowering the camera in an attempt to catch a glimpse with my own eyes rather than through a lens.
She would simply smirk at my always eager reaction to her, reaching out to gently nudge the camera back upwards.
She’d whisper, urging me on,
“Keep going, baby.”
Keep snapping photos, these next few undoubtably just for us.
Next thing we know she’s completely bare for me, spurred on by the way I look at her with love, lust and absolute adoration. She’s spread herself out on the mattress now, biting seductively at her lower lip. She looks at me with those eyes, mirroring my own lust-filled gaze.
Eventually I tear my eyes off of her, just long enough to lift the camera back up and take a perfect final shot.
It’s my turn to bite my lip in anticipation as the photo develops painstakingly slowly.
She sits up and reaches forward, taking the photo just as the picture begins to show itself. She saunters across the room, my eyes never leaving her gorgeous body. She makes her way confidently towards the bureau in search of her lipstick, a perfect shade of deep red.
She holds my gaze as she applies a coat before placing the softest kiss against the back of the Polaroid, leaving her lipstick mark behind.
Back at my side now, she hands me the photograph with a Cheshire grin and whispers once more, this time just loud enough to hear as she tucks the photograph into the pocket of my flannel.
“For your eyes only, love.”
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