You gave too much, way too soon. Not enough, way too late. It's a hit or miss kind of thing. The pieces have to fall in the right place at the right time. But if it all crumbles, don't give up. Give it time. One hour, and it could be just right. And when you hit the right amount, at the right time: you'll know. The gods will open up the clouds and shine a light just for you. You'll rejoice in the ambience of perfection. And then it's gone. Only lasting a short while. Then you'll search a lifetime. A lifetime of perseverance. Just for a maybe. For a possibility. Cause once you have it, you'll never settle for anything less. For all the good things, are worth more than words can describe.
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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