Once we are born, we are suffocated by the lies of politicians
as it feels like the pressure and steam between an iron and a shirt. It forced
us to be chained down like Israleites and wear the adulterous letter, “I,”
like a Hester Pyrnne. We had been cursed to our individuality long enough. We
get it: We all feel lonely. We all feel underappreciated. We all want to be
loved. But we can never meet our basic needs with no oxygen. We have to
breathe. “I” cannot breathe alone. In order to become “We,” “I” had to be left
in the past. “I” had become the Goliath, but the strength of David was our “We.”
We had learned that it only takes one “I” to start an idea, but it must a “We”
to build that idea. And this was the beginning of “We.”
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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