Quiet slumber awakens me. Wrapped around the mistakes of yesterday. Feel the warmth of whom I thought was you. I'd rather just go back to dream land. Where it's shiny and bright. I know one day I'll have to let it go. For now, I'm keeping it. Maybe you shouldn't have come back. Even if just for a night. You only bring me down. But for now I'll bask in the glory of what used to be. Cause even if only for a night, it feels like a lifetime promised finally fulfilled. Full circle back when I turn over. For dreamland has tricked me. And as I lay alone to start a new day, I can breathe because that mistake can wait for another day.
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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