OUR_STORY

Storytelling is one of the oldest and most accessible tools used to share culture and experiences over generations.

But telling our own stories, and sharing our own experiences in our own words, is also a means of empowerment and self-affirmation – especially when our voices have been marginalized for as long as we can remember.

 

OUR_STORY aims to gather queer narratives from all around the world, seeing that freedom of expression for people that don’t conform to the majority’s gender norms is still relatively or completely absent in some parts of our planet and underrepresented everywhere.

OUR_STORY wants to highlight voices that are and have often been silenced. You’re especially encouraged to submit if you have not published anything before.

OUR_STORY

– submissions

My Two Mothers

My Two Mothers

TEXT BY: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || ILLUSTRATION BY: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

My mothers are two women in love and they raised me just fine. They are the best example of a prefect family and I am forever thankful that they taught me how to respect everyone else’s identities and sexual orientation without bias.
WHITE DREAMING ON MOUNT WARNING

WHITE DREAMING ON MOUNT WARNING

TEXT BY: Aabbchot aabbaadd Aabbswallow // Australia || ILLUSTRATION BY: Lekouzinthomas // France

I am dreaming about men. I am dreaming about women. I am dreaming i have tits walking across the nearby highway, walking along the local street with busy endless small shops. I am dreaming this recurring unresolving dream….
Exposed

Exposed

TEXT BY: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || ILLUSTRATION BY: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

I want this mysterious woman to have me. To take me in a way known to her and make me moan endlessly. To touch me in places that crave for touch; a woman’s touch and make me moan.
If I Should Fall Asleep – CW: Suicide

If I Should Fall Asleep – CW: Suicide

TEXT BY: Cassia Gaden Gilmartin // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Avital Yomdin // Germany

It’s nine o’clock, evening but not yet night, and the sky is the colour of peaches. Colours, rather. A pinkish red in the high places and yellow nearer the horizon, as if the sun’s split open and leaked all over the sky.
HOMOPHOBIC  POEM  NO. 8

HOMOPHOBIC POEM NO. 8

TEXT BY: T.M. Brown // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Tom Moore // Germany

Are Gay People Artistic Because They’re Gay Or Gay Because They’re Artistic?, Either Way It Seems A Strange Conclusion To Reach And To Say The Least Over Simplistic.
What is OUR_STORY?

What is OUR_STORY?

Storytelling is one of the oldest and most accessible tools used to share culture and experiences over generations. With…
a lake, a sea so far

a lake, a sea so far

TEXT + ILLUSTRATION BY: E. C. Schuster // Germany

They are a young, queer lesbian based in Germany. They are a student of English literature, an activist, and work as an academic researcher and freelance journalist.
Eat, Pray, Puke – CW: bulimia

Eat, Pray, Puke – CW: bulimia

TEXT BY: Nate Eileen Tjoeng // Singapore || ILLUSTRATION BY: Falco Verholen // Netherlands

My name is Beverly. I am 29 years old, I have bulimia and I have lived purging what I consume for 13 years. It all started when I was a plump kid at 16. The mockery and scorn tore me apart.
In Ireland and in Love

In Ireland and in Love

TEXT BY: Jocelyne Rigal // Ireland || ILLUSTRATION BY: Lea Daniel // Ireland

How do you heal a broken heart? Mine had been reduced to shreds by Mairead, an out and proud lesbian I met at work. Mairead, all hoodies and short hair, didn’t take my feelings for her seriously because I’d had two babies
Nyelethi

Nyelethi

text by: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || photo by: Ambika Thompson // Canada

That surprises me. She never talks about us when we are together. To her, I am this dirty little secret, something she enjoys having by her side. I am okay with that. Personally, I am not out looking for anything that would tie me down.
Quest as in Question or Quest as in Journey

Quest as in Question or Quest as in Journey

text by: Julius // Trinidad and Tobago || illustration by: Elizabeth Watkin // USA

I stared into his dark eyes. I was washed with pure hate. He hated me. I had no idea why. Three words separated me from gaining his acceptance. I am gay. Those words rang in my ear and danced in the whirlpool of thoughts that strangled my mind. He hated me.
Dark Juices

Dark Juices

text by: Nyar Afrika // Kenya || illustration by: Lekouzinthomas // France

The prospect of getting laid sends chills down my body. Exhilaration dances through me. I miss the touch of a woman so much that I am on the brink of insanity. Just kidding.