bodies, LGBT+, poetry

This Is How Two Women Have Sex

By Emily Blair. This poem appears in Boshemia Magazine: Technology & the Sublime and in her collection We Are Birds by Dancing Girl Press. Photograph by David Cohen.


this is how two women have sex [i]

I wear galoshes.

She holds a thickly woven net

between her hands & asks

if I know how to play cats in the cradle. Continue reading

guest writer, poetry


by Chris Hawkins. This poem appears in Boshemia Magazine: BODIES. Photo by Connor Irwin.


Your earrings were still on my desk,

one week and half after you plucked

each from either lobe and left them

to glimmer in the energy— Continue reading

author: sarah q, current events, LGBT+, long read, news, opinion, politics, pop culture, recommendation

George Michael, Prince & David Bowie || The Soundtrack Against Toxic Masculinity

God wasn’t 2016 rubbish? In the next few weeks, Boshemia will almost definitely be musing over how god awful the last year was, but today we’re going to be looking at one of the prevailing themes of the year: Toxic Masculinity. In a year of Trump asserting his masculinity in dangerous ways over everything he seemed to cross, and then somehow getting awarded for it; a year of Brexit and the following fight for the Prime Minister spot being nothing more than a dick measuring contest, only for the cursed position to go for a woman, almost certainly setting her up for failure. In a year of rape accusations, police shootings, terrorist attacks (good god the year’s even worse when you write it all down!), we coincidentally lost three icons of masculinity and gender subversion. On December 25th, aged 53, George Michael joined Prince and David Bowie in the pantheon of people destroyed by 2016; the trifecta of 80s queer icons has gone, politicians are swiftly moonwalking away from identity politics, and the world is basking in the stench of toxic masculinity. Merry Christmas.


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anonymous, guest writer, Personal Essay

It’s Not You, It’s My Vagina

An anonymous submission to Boshemia blog, writing candidly on living with HSV2 and enjoying a happy, millennial sex life. You go girl.

It is a freezing, blustery, Saturday night. It is so cold in fact that my eyelashes have frosted. The sun has began to set and the awful green Mazda pulls up. Inside of that car is my handsome date. He has a perfect nose. This is good because if he kisses me later, it could fuck up the three hours of contouring if his shnoz was equivalent to Horton’s. No one is as hot as I feel. I have on black leggings that hug perfectly at my thighs, red lips because I pretend to rock them and a flowy top that shows off the right amount of cleavage. The date goes great. He’s gentle, warm, and makes me laugh. He even paid for the Big Macs before I could whip out my debit card. “I got this, beautiful.” Wow! Chivalry isn’t dead after all!

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