“If I was your boyfriend, I’d never let you go I can take you places you ain't never been before,” I sang along to Justin’s Bieber’s hit “Boyfriend” as I learned the moves from new Wii dancing/dating game, Justin Bieber: The Experience. It had finally arrived. I even got a new look to go with my much needed life change. I also quit all five of my jobs. I was jobless, but I looked good. I was one sexy African-American (Kenyan), Asian (Korean), Hispanic (Cuban), Caucasian (Scottish), Native American (Cherokee) America with manicured eyebrows and blond hair. Justin’s confidence was inspiration. She was the first young, open, lesbian rocking the charts. Everything about her screamed masculine boldness. Her hair, her use of a male name, her style, her public relationships with other female stars, and her wonder Bieber swag. I was in love with a lesbian. I was just about to begin a dating tips simulation on the game when my doorbell rang. Ugh, It was Nate, “Can I use your laptop and wifi?” I lied again, “Nate, I told you, since the beginning (*wink*:Episode 1 reference) that I don’t have internet.” Nate scoffed, “That’s not true. I caught a wifi signal the other day when I was jogging by with my Ipod…Nate stopped talking and look at the TV which had Bieber playing. “What are you doing?” I responded sassily, “Channeling the energy of my new inspiration. And yes, I know she’s a lesbian. And I am proud.” Nate looked confused, “That’s a teenage boy.” My heart sank. I stood in silence. The music continued in the background, “Na na na, na na na, na na na ey. Na na na, na na na, na na na ey. If I was your boyfriend.’ I thought the song was about a girl wanted to be in the boyfriend role. I am and more confused everyday.
It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...
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