Trapped in a wormhole that keeps replaying , like the music
in my head, I can feel it repeating every time but can’t pause the show or the
spinning in my mind. I live on a physical world and with it comes a physical
pain, a pain too great to keep me moving down here yet not strong enough to
keep me from that spiritual plane, the one that leads directly to you. I cannot
always see you, hear you, touch you, but I know you are there and you are real.
I’ve felt you fill me before, a glimpse of true life, true love with no anger,
sadness, or worry and most of all no pain. I step among the fallen and I suffer
because I am just like them – broken, beaten, and too far from your touch so
that my fingers keep slipping through your hands and I feel myself sliding
down, down into replay mode but I just call to you and I know, I know you are
right there and holding me patiently through it all. Lucky me. What I wouldn’t
give to be in sync with you, full of love, of joy and giving it to all who ask
and even those who don’t. And though I often slip and fall, get tangled in the
blankets of darkness and knowing evermore that I’ve had this dream before which
is sometimes sweet but sometimes scary. I know there is a reason for it all and
I trust you. I do. And I always will.
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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