she smiled and peered from behind wide eyes
her mouth running like a babbling brook
those pouty lips and tiny hips
i waited until i realized she was nervous
that's why the words tripped so quickly from her lips
i wasn't brave but i was ballsy enough
so i leaned forward as if i did this sort of thing
psh, all the time, any given day of the week
her relief drowning amidst the tidal wave of her desire
and she sank, quivering,
into me.
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...
OMG,this is beautiful...to be able to express yourself this way is just amazing.Thank you for sharing this with me.
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