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A white light flooded my eyes as fell out of the portal and onto the hotel room floor. The tiny bag I held fell, scattering teeth across the teal and orange carpet. Soft, padded feet hit the back of my summer jacket. My familiar. (read more)
Shut Up, Shealea (March 14, 2019)
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This blog post, more than others, is a discussion, largely intended to be between me and the other authors of color (AOC), queer writers, and disabled writers that read my posts about #ownvoices.