What do you expect?? Jesus was just a man. Created in his father's image, I endure the same fate. Torn between sin and salvation, I take the only road I know. I leave small pieces of myself in the trail. Hoping this will nostalgically remind me that there is a need to remember where it began to see the end. However, as time passes and people follow, I loose sight of my own pieces. Morphed together, they no longer lead my memories. Lost in the journey, I pray. I pray for forgiveness of things I'm not sure need forgiving. I pray in the same manor as him, but I have lost track of why. In the end's light of a long life's voyage, I finally recognize the pieces I left behind. It is then that I realize what everyone works so hard to forget.
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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