This page is an online space for the LGBTQ+ community to share their experiences with the option of anonymity. We hope this will be a place of guidance where students struggling with their sexuality can come to have access to stories they would not have had access to otherwise. We hope that this will be a space where parents with children in the LGBTQ+ community can gain more knowledge about what it is like to be in the community to be as supportive of their children as possible. Finally, we hope this will be a safe space for students so all appropriate stories can be reviewed and published.

Queer Fairytales

Students in the LGBTQ+ Literature class studied, among other things, how fairytales are constructed, both in terms of content and language. They read fiction that incorporated the tropes of fairytales and read essays about the philosophical underpinnings of the genre and the code language used by members of the LGBTQ+ community during the time homosexuality was illegal. Students then wrote fairytales of their own using the knowledge they’d gained. These are a few of the fairytales the students created. 

List of 4 items.

  • “The Stars Don’t Move”: A Modern-Day Queer Fairytale by Tyler A.

    My fairytale, “The Stars Don’t Move,” is a reimagination of Sandro Penna’s poem “The Stars Don’t Move.” 

    In my LGBTQ+ literature class, we started learning about Polari. During the mid-20th century, Polari was popular as a “code language” for gay Brits at a time when homosexuality was illegal. It’s impossible to ignore Polari’s influence in gay culture, as it gave gay Brtis a playful way to express their sexuality without facing the consequences of the law. With my fairytale, I attempted to pay homage to Polari through my use of alliteration, a nod to rhyming slang and the whimsicality of the language.

    According to George MacDonald, to have a successful fairytale, the reader must, “see the laws of its existence obeyed” (MacDonald). Though each fairytale is unique, the arc of their stories follow a formulaic pattern. Despite my fairytale expanding upon some rules of the traditional fairytale, my story still follows the laws that MacDonald lays out: a protagonist longing for love, finding their true love, being thwarted by an antagonist, and then defeating the antagonist and finding love, happily ever after.

    Something else MacDonald incorporates into his fairytales is the inclusion of “borderlands.” Roderick McGillis writes in his essay, “‘A Fairytale is Just a Fairytale’ George MacDonald and the Queering of the Fairy,” that “MacDonald is constantly creating places with borders, borders between fairy land and the land we know as ‘reality’” (McGillis). With my fairytale using space terminology and taking place in various locations in outer space, I made sure to constantly build on that theme. Instead of using locations such as the names of major cities, I replaced those names with locations in space like the Eagle Nebula, and instead of conversion therapy, I call it “the asteriod belt.” These locations help to create the idea that the actions my “stars'' take, such as floating, are justified because they are seemingly placed in an outer worldly setting. 

    And this lays the foundation for my fairytale, “The Stars Don’t Move.”


    The stars are too far away. Lightyears separate stars to sequestered quadrants of the universe, only observable on other planets. My star is too far away. How can I reach my star with my toes tethered to the tectonic tides that turn Terra. My star resides on the other side of optimism, on the outskirts of oblivion. If only I could love my star — sulfur sparks spreading surly.

    I want to kiss my star; I want to embrace my star; I want to know my star. Why won’t my star listen to me? He loves me does he not? He surely would shine brighter than the sun if not for the black hole. The detestable black hole. The all-consuming void with a vendetta on my verve. If the black hole would just turn away, I could embrace my star and be swallowed into blistering warmth. To sinful love.

    I met my star in the Eagle Nebula, down the block, a few megaparsecs away, over the summer. His most defining feature is his glow. Rainbows radiate as he rotates round and round, striking me in my core. And I freeze. And he floats away. The stars don’t move in the sky, the summer hour is like any other summer. But the boy walking ahead of you — if you don’t speak up he’ll never be the one… 

    The black hole said it was time to go, but I couldn’t leave then, not when my Big Bang beckons me, testing the theory of my sexuality. Suddenly the stars begin to swirl sporadically — swiftly soaring spectacles. The perfect alignment — my star is within reach. But as I shoot for my star the black hole spots me. His gaping mouth expands and sucks the stars away, leaving me captured in his confinement, taking me home.

    Next summer I spent every day at the Eagle Nebula. Every night I looked up for my star, his aura asphyxiates me, his presence persuades me. Finally, the heavenly body — I would soon call my beloved — descended into my orbit. “Hello,” his gentle voice tickles my tongue, testing my tenacity, “have we met before?” “I passed by you last summer,” I confess, “I was hoping to run into you again.”

    Intergalactic love was born at that moment. Starlight shimmers south to planets below as we come closer. The more time spent the more time forgotten as days turned to weeks turned to months — cycles of life across our solar system kept spinning but the planets which birth the love between humans lack the gravity that me and my love share. Our love had no planet to call home, but it was our own.

    The black hole lives outside of our love. A different dimension. One night, my love wanted to see the other stars. “There are so many stars who are just like us,” he said, “we have to go see them.” We were the only two stars of our kind in this sector of space. To reach the other stars, we would have to travel a treacherous trail of torment — we would have to sneak past the black hole.

    When the moon mooned the sun, and the eclipse covered us in its special darkness, we took a risk. Together, we burst at light speed across the plain of space — off to an area, awaiting altruistic acceptance. But as we move so does the moon, no longer blocking the sun’s rays. Too late. The black hole never thought its own sweet star would betray. “Discipline,” the black hole screeches as it eviscerates our hope of reaching the garden of eden.

    We were banished to “therapy.” The black hole thought it would be best to send us to the asteroid belt. I’ve heard of the terrible terrors the asteroid belt teaches. A cruel place that dismantles poor stars. An asteroid a day attempts to hinder my love but I manage to survive for I know in the future my stars will once again align. No number of silicate slicers should stop my spiral galaxy of love. 

    The true horror of the asteroid belt is the number of stars that are dying. My love and I did want to see the stars — but not like this. Soulless stars sulk across the grounds, accused of committing an atrocity, unwanted by the ones who swore to love them. The stars around me flicker. Their light which was once so bright fades. I can’t accept this fate. We will obtain our peace.

    My star and I had to become a symbol for the other stars. We were the only pair. So we did what lovers do. We bonded together. A sparkling white line tied the two of us. A constellation was forming. Together, we are strong. This was the symbol my kindred stars needed. The stars, who used to be hollow husks, were connecting with me and my love — boiling bodies binded together. 

    Orion’s sword is raised to the top of the cosmos. Glowing globs gather around the asteroids. I am not alone. All of the stars have connected — our constellation is complete! “Heresy!” The asteroid’s claim as they form their beastly barricade — bloating brash bolides brawl love with their fists. The spectrum of stars stands strong — fighting hate with love — the belt buckles and bursts.

    The asteroids crumble beneath the weight of our love — shattering sin suffocates surrounding surfaces. Together we rise. As I stand with my community, the black hole can only watch in despair. Perhaps in another universe my dad would have understood. I don't want him in my life anymore, not when my real family is waiting for me. The stars do move, all together, all at once.
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  • "Fairytale" by Ryan S. and Ava W.

    Once upon a time, Eli the stallion stares at the starry sky––noticing the blank, almost empty gaps where no glow is visible. He tries to clear his mind, letting the stars paint pictures for him, maybe a map––a way out of the stable. It had been yet another day with two late feedings and no exercise, so Eli’s long legs and eager heart throbs for the mere thought of adventure––something he could only dream of. 
    He hears something in the distance, laughing. 


    He thinks to himself. 

    “Awww, did your human tuck you in real tight?” 

    A muscular stallion gallops in the distance, the light playfully bouncing off of his vibrant coat. His faint shadow begins to appear more clearly...

    “Please help me sir. My legs, they ache from numbness and...and my eyes are strained from looking at the same overgrown greenery for the past six months,” Eli whimpers.

    “What happened to your pet human? They don’t love you any more?” The cocky stallion remarks.

    “No, I've felt like I've never left the confines of this prison-like stable,” Eli mutters.

    “So you’ve never run through the bluffs by the sea?” Eric asks.

    “No...never,” Eli replies.

    “Let me take you there. By the way, my name is Eric,” The muscular stallion says. 

    “Mine is Eli,” Eli states.

    “Well it’s nice to meet ya, Eli,” Eric declares. 

    Eric kneels down onto the hard gravel that surrounds the stable, and as he begins to speak, the world around Eli starts to melt and disappear. Eric describes the freshness of the salty air, how its scent seemed to cling to his coat for days. He delineates the view from the bluffs, how the navy blue waves moved like tall forest green grass.

    Suddenly, Eric’s song tears down the walls of the prison, but three seconds later, the prison’s venerable wood magically reassembles itself around Eli’s body. 

    “Where are you going?” Eli asks. 

    “I'm going to find a way to take you to the beach,” Eric replies, destined to find Eli a way to experience the feeling of the warm sand slithering beneath his hooves.  


    Eric disappears. In his absence, Eli’s world now feels empty.
    Days pass and nothing changes. Seasons change and the sparse greenery around the stable starts to wither and crumble as winter rapidly approaches, and with it, Eli’s hope––Eli’s hope to taste the beach’s salty air and dance with the ocean waves. 

    As the light dusting of snow begins to cover the moldy wood Eli is encaged in, Eli could hear another horse’s trot. He quickly takes a peek out of the miniscule opening in the corner of his stall, and sees Eric’s sinewy shadow. Eric approaches and Eli couldn’t help but notice the rope tied around his neck. 

    “I thought you wouldn’t come,” Eli states, surprised. 

    “It took me longer than expected to figure out how to get the stable open, but I made a promise that I intended to keep,” Eli replies with pride. 

    Eric, using his mouth, swings the hook around the bars of the door to Eli’s stables, and starts to run in the opposite direction––until the rope is taught. Eric pulls and pulls, and after what seemed like forever the door begins to bend, and finally, it glass. 

    Awestruck, Eli rushes out of the stable and into Eric's warm chest. 

    “Where do we go now?” Eli asks. 

    “Wherever our hearts take us,” Eric announces. 

    As the beachy breeze builds just as rapidly as Eli’s taste for the real world, Eli and Eric hear soft festive music playing about a town away on their way to the beach. 

    “Hey what’s that? Is it going to eat us?!” Eli exclaims.

    “Hold your horses… it’s just music,” Eric replies.

    “Music?” Eli questions.

    “Yes, music. Sound waves wiggling through your body––making your ears stand up and dance. Why don’t we gallop down there? It is only a few miles away...we could stick together, I promise I will protect you from danger,” Eric emphasizes. 

    “Okay, I trust you, Eric,” Eli responds. 

    The two enamored stallions canter into the sunset, together––until they run into a couple of mares. 

    “Hey boys, wanna accompany us to the music festival?” The two mares ask. 

    “Uh actually, we were going to go together,” Eric mutters 

    “Fantabulosa!” Eli chants 

    “You two are weird. We are gonna go find some real stallions. Let's go, Cherry…,” one of the mares utters. 

    Eric and Eli prance into the lights, striving to laugh off the oppressive comments from the mares. 

    “Mares? More like who cares?!” Eli says, trying to brighten up the mood. 

    “Stop that Eli, we are too good for them...and by the way, what I said back there––I do really want to go see the lights, hear the music, and be with you” Eric replies. 

    “You’re right. I want to be with you too––and get lost in your glistening eyes, where the light doesn’t even know where to bounce,” Eli whispers. 

    The stallions look at each other for a while. There is a soft tension, it is comforting. It is almost as if in that moment, their souls intertwined. From then on, they did not know what path the arc of their lives would take, but they were certain of one thing: that it would be together. 

    One month later

    Eli notices Eric’s breath synchronizing with the chilly ocean breeze. He settles down on his makeshift sand bed, turns to face Eric, and thinks to himself––before he lets his dreams carry him away. 

    Yes, we had gone to the sea together.
    Yes, we had heard music together.
    Yes, we saw the sunlight pouring down.
    Yes, we hated the inner and outer oppression.
    Yes, we had laughed often day and night.
    Yes, we were looking at each other.
    Yes, I am free now.
    Yes, I trace his constellations. 
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  • "Days of 1908" by Max G. & Francesca E.

    Accordingly, he lived by playing cards and backgammon, and the occasional loan. That was the assumption of the cafe’s patrons, at least. He never gave a name, instead, he simply appeared outside each morning at exactly five minutes to open and would leave only when kicked out by the owner. He always took the same seat, a table in the corner, and gave the same offer to whoever passed.
    “Play a game with me,” he’d say to whoever passes. No matter the person he would tell them, “Pick a game to play and I’ll make it worth your while. I want nothing in return, just your time and a game. There’s nothing for you to lose, only to gain.”

    So the guest would sit down, pick a game and play. No matter the game the man would win. He would shake the guest’s hand and thank them before he’d try to ask their name. Before he could, they'd stand to leave or reach for their wallet to give a reward and the man would have to stop them to explain.

    “I said you’d only have to gain and I’m nothing if not a man of my word.” And so the man would give his guest advice tailored to whatever it may be that ails them. Always oddly specific and incredibly vague, the guest would leave confused to rarely return for another game. The advice would always be necessary, though. None would play without needing something fixed, some their love life, others their job, all would lose and all would get their help. At times the guest would once again offer to at least pay for a coffee but would always be refused. The man was there to help. It would leave guests wondering what could cards and backgammon earn the boy?

    Very few would return to play again, however, none returned more than twice. Some needed to be told something new, others the same, and the rest would wish for something else to be said completely. None would ever stay past the end of the game.

    He lived a lonely life, the card man in the cafe. He would spend his days telling people what they needed to know to solve their problems but never his own. He never gave a name as he was never asked for it. Each day would repeat the same as the last.

    As usual the card man took the same seat, a table in the corner, and gave the same offer to whoever passed. As the seasons passed, there were pumpkins and bats as a stranger rolled in the card man could feel a change in the air. The smell of pumpkin spice lattes filled the air but he got caught off guard as this stranger walked in. He went straight up to the card man, his charcoal coat a contrast to the cinnamon one of the man. The card man thought “time to win win win”. But something felt off as this man sat down. A change in the wind pushed through the cafe. As they played their game, each one ended in draws. Not a single game won but such little time left as they looked outside the windows at the night sky dark as his charcoal coat. A pretty color to the eye. As they dealt their last cards the card man could tell something was up. They played their best, one by one, but in the end this stranger has won. He smiled and thanked him for the game as this stranger walked out into the night. As the card man was finally defeated he sat there in shock. He sat there for a while till once again was kicked out. As the card man was putting his cards away he noticed digits written on one of the last cards. The stranger's number… maybe he'll see him once again. 

    Now, the card man’s guests had never asked for his number, asked for his name, those who asked for anything only asked for another game. They never offered anything either, so the pen scratched into the playing card was as strange a sight as the man himself was to anyone new to the cafe. No one knew exactly what the man did with the phone number, no one knew if he had a phone or not after all, but what people did know was that the next day, the stranger returned. Still dawning his charcoal coat, another long day of card games began.

    Again, each game ended in a draw. The card man tried to give the stranger the much needed mystic advice that everyone else received, but the stranger would begin a new game before the man could speak. He couldn’t tell the stranger in the middle of the game, those weren’t the rules and he didn’t know what he needed to say until the game was done. Seeing into one’s soul was as much a science as it was an art. So each game would end in a draw and with a playful smile the stranger would begin a new game. The day dragged on, game after game, neither winning nor losing. During the games, the stranger would talk and ask questions no other player had bothered to ask. It was a breath of fresh air to the lonely card man.

    For a week or so, perhaps even longer, that was how it went. Soon the stranger wasn’t the only of the pair that talked during the games. Their conversations were pleasant and then on the final day, after the final game, someone had finally won. The stranger set down his cards and held out his hand. The stranger became the first of the card man’s guests to best him and as the man went to tell the stranger what magical advice he needed, he found himself drawing a blank.

    “You give people advice, right?” The stranger asked, “When you win you tell people something they need to know. Well I won, so I guess I’ll say something to you. Tomorrow, go to the beach and take a swim at dawn.” And with that, the stranger stood and thanked the card man before grabbing his charcoal coat and leaving the cafe.

    The mysterious man found himself feeling a lightness in his chest. “Is this what others feel when I look into their souls?” he thought. Despite the strangeness of the situation, the next morning, five minutes till the cafe opened, the man stood not at the door but on the sand. He wore the same suit, a very faded cinnamon-brown suit. He neatly removed the pieces one by one and waded into the sea.

    For the first time since he first appeared, the card man did not return to the cafe. He did not give his free advice to those who didn’t ask his name. For at least that one day, the card man’s life was his own. For as many times as the man had glanced into the life of another, had given advice on love, he had never seen what he had needed. As the sun grew higher in the sky, the strange card-playing man dawned his cinnamon suit once more and reached into his pockets. He pulled out, not his deck of 52 cards, but a single card with a line of numbers scratched into it with a pen.

    The patrons at the cafe would miss his presence at first, but soon would forget about the unusual man with the unusual routine. They would not take notice of the two men dressed in charcoal and cinnamon coats who would begin to frequent the cafe together, taking a seat near the back to play a game of cards...
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  • "Fairytale" by Sophia A., Ellio W., Yasmin A.

    Across the pond of the bluest water seen through mists of rain: in all the land, is a castle of pure elegance and prestige. Inside is a fair and slim prince by the name Atlas, whose Pale cheeks whereon no kiss hath left its stain, and skin iced cold. His complexion is nothing, but a mere reflection of what is going on beneath the surface. As an only child to the beloved king and queen, he knew he was bound to take the throne as king and follow in his father’s footsteps.
    Every day he wakes up to the same routine living life in a body that is not his own. However, this all changes when the clock strikes 12 and he is able to fall asleep into the world of his creation. His days go by slowly, but the thought of being able to be truly himself in his dreams is what keeps him going. As a baby, Atlas was very difficult, refusing to sleep, and crying for hours on end. The king and queen tried for weeks to get this to stop but had to rely on the castle’s sorcerer for help. She placed an enchantment on his bed so that every time the clock strikes 12 Atlas would fall into a deep sleep and be able to create his own world through his dreams.

    As he grew older, his dreams grew more intense, when he fell asleep he was this beautiful happy young princess With hair of gold thick clustering around her ears and the brightest green eyes you will ever see. Yet when he awakes, he is the opposite of what he desires to be most. This frustration of not being able to be his true self drove Atlas crazy. He sought help from the person that gave him this blessing and this curse. 

    One night, Atlas wandered down to the dungeons and found the castle’s sorcerer. Atlas mostly kept to himself and did not share a word about what was truly going on inside, but there was something about the comfortability of the sorcerer that led him to open up to her. He explained his struggles and sought her advice on what to do. She offered to change the spell so that Atlas could stay inside his dream forever, but he would have to leave his family and life behind. Atlas pondered this thought and imagined himself blissfully staring in the mirror applying the most vibrant shade of red lipstick and admiring her beauty in the mirror. Something he couldn’t even imagine doing in his real life. He asked the sorcerer for time to think about her offer, but she explained how the spell was to expire at midnight on his 18th birthday in 2 weeks. 

    That night, before bed, Atlas sat, looking at his ceiling, which was beautifully painted with images of white doves, Behind, wide fields, and reapers all a-rows. He pondered his decision, looking at both options and weighing the possibilities of what could occur. On one hand, he kind of enjoyed his life. He loved his friends, he loved his castle, he loved his room, and he loved his parents. He loved his dog and his butler, but most of all he loved his dreams. So, on the other hand, in his dreams, he could be who he truly was. He was no longer Atlas, but Aria. Aria’s life was not as fun, but at least it was hers. In her dreams, although her real family wasn't there, SHE loved HER room, and SHE loved HER castle. He wished and wished that he could be Aria in real life. But, he was scared. No one else he had ever met or read about in fairy tales had ever done such a crazy thing. Everyone else seemed to be happy exactly as they are, which frustrated Atlas. Why was he the only one? Why was he so alone? He thought these thoughts as he started to slowly drift away to sleep, transforming into Aria just as he had many nights before.

    In the morning, he was awoken to the sound of his mother coming into his room, saying that today, they had a visitor from the king two kingdoms over. His mother was nervous about Atlas turning 18 and running the kingdom, so she wanted to introduce him to another new king, the young Robert who had just turned 19 five moons ago. He looked out his window and sighed.

    “How am I supposed to be a king,” he thought, “when I'm not even truly a prince?”

    He saw the sun is shooting wide its crimson glow, as it rose above his kingdom. As Robert arrived, Something about him felt familiar. They met in the dining room as the royal chef brought out a most wonderful breakfast, and Robert looked at him and smiled. For a young man, he had quite a high voice. Atlas was struck by Robert's comfort in his confidence while he battled his inner turmoil.  He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was but he almost felt like he had met Robert in a dream. 

    After breakfast, they went for a walk in the palace garden. Robert led as if he had walked this path before. They found themselves in the palace courtyard, facing the largest window in the entire castle, with a small waterfall flowing into the pond below. The window was blessed with condensation and like the bluest water seen through mists of rain, the reflections were clear.

    Robert, who had appeared so brute-like, spoke strongly, “I felt the sorcerer's magic all the way from my kingdom.”

    Atlas looked up, shocked. His biggest secret was his dreams. So how come Robert seemed to be drawn to him with such force?

    “Before I was king I was a princess,'' Robert said. “The sorcerer performed the same magic on my dreams, but I broke the spell.”
    Altas looked at him stunned, “how did you make your dream come true?” he asked.

    “Well,” Robert replied, “By not being afraid.” 

    The young prince Atlas faced Robert, so miserable and reserved, his longing eyes half-veiled by foolish tears. Robert then demanded Atlas go face his reflection, hesitantly raising his gaze. Met with Arias' warm regard, her eyes filled with the same foolish tears as the princess in the reflection.

    Robert turns to Atlas and says, “I see you. I was once miserable and reserved and I came to a reflection like this to see who I needed to be.”

    Everything fell into place, Aria realized she didn’t need to lose her family to become the Queen she was always meant to be. Aria went on to rule her kingdom with great pride alongside her grateful family who supported and loved her just as much as before.

    With hair of gold thick clustering round his ears,
    And longing eyes half-veiled by foolish tears
    Like bluest water seen through mists of rain: -
    Pale cheeks whereon no kiss hath left its stain,
    Red under lip drawn for fear of Love,
    And white throat whiter than the breast of a dove.
    Alas! alas! if all should be in vain. -
    Behind, wide fields, and reapers all a-row
    In heat and labor toiling wearily,
    To no sweet sound of laughter or of lute.
    The sun is shooting wide its crimson glow,
    Still, the boy dreams: nor knows that night is nigh,
    And in the nighttime, no man gathers the fruit.
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Student Narratives

List of 3 items.

  • About Student Narratives & Submission Instructions

    This is a place where people of all backgrounds should feel comfortable; as such, your identity never has to be revealed unless you feel comfortable attaching your name to the story. If you do not feel comfortable sharing your story in fear of coming out, a friend can submit it for them and it will be posted anonymously.

    You can send your narrative or your friend’s narrative to Mr. Kohn or Mr. Neddermeyer. Please feel free to email us with questions. We look forward to hearing and sharing your stories.

    This space will eventually further expand into one where faculty, staff, parents, and guardians can also share stories and resources, such as movies and songs relating to the community. Student submissions are just the first step!
  • Questioning by Isabelle G.

    Sexuality is a package that comes to everyone’s door. On the outside, there is the cardboard box, the normalized, standardized, exterior that is presented to the world. Sometimes the components of the inside radiate onto the cardboard package, other times the interior is unrevealed. One layer inside, boxed again, tissue-covered, bagged, wrapped, or bare is the actual item.
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  • There After All by Lina G.-D.

    “He would wake up in the morning and see the sun coming in the window, and sit up in his bed and think it was gone, and then find it there after all, behind his ears or in his heart” (Doctorow 181).
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Clubs & Organizations
“Gathering in safe spaces around shared identity allows students to engage in conversations about how they can subvert the structures that push them to the margins.” - Teaching Tolerance

Genders & Sexualities Alliance

The Genders & Sexualities Alliance is a club consisting of students across all spectrums of gender identity, gender expression, and sexual orientation. We exist for LGBTQ+ students and allies alike to find an open, safe space for them to gather in their truths, whether discussing LGBTQ+ media or holding larger conversations on LGBTQ+ issues as they apply to Buckley and the world.

GSA offers a place for students to celebrate both their differences and their similarities, and to become aware of how to better support each other. Externally, we serve to educate the Buckley community through symposia, assemblies, or events and spaces designed to promote LGBTQ+ awareness and solidarity. Our primary concern, however, is serving the wellbeing of Buckley’s LGBTQ+ students and providing them with the needed place to feel welcomed and safe, both at Buckley and beyond.


Buckley’s LAMBDA Affinity space is for staff, faculty, students, families, and community members to foster a more welcoming and respectful campus community for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer individuals. The group is open to all staff, faculty, students, and families, identifying as part of the LGBTQ community.

Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: 988

On July 16, 2022, a new dialing code goes into effect for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: 988.
This national, three-digit dialing code was designated by Congress to provide 24-hour access to a trained crisis counselor. Like 911, the number is easier to remember and for emergencies but offers specialized support in mental health. The number is available to call, text, or chat.

988 was established to respond not just to all youth, but specifically those who identify as LGBTQ+. According to a recent study by the Trevor Project, 45% of LGBTQ+ identifying youth have considered suicide over the past year.
Anyone of any age can use 988 to seek help for themselves or for advice regarding friends and loved ones. If you are unsure about whether your concern is appropriate, call. A counselor can help you assess your needs.
Student Quotes
Useful Source Material

Book Recommendations

Looking for LGBTQ+ books to read this summer? Here are some great places to start.

Try These Books
Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters
Crossing by Pajtim Statovci
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

Classic Literature
Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx (short story)
Fun Home by Alison Bechdel (graphic novel)
Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin (novel)
Maurice by E.M. Forster (novel)
The Price of Salt or Carol by Patricia Highsmith (novel)
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman (poetry)

Young Adult
Feathers by Jacqueline Woodson
Weetzie Bat by Francesca Lia Block

Becky Albertalli
Rachel Gold
David Levithan
Adam Silvera

Cultural Recommendations

Song & Artist Recommendations
Honey by Kehlani 
Girls like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko 

Film & Television Recommendations