All is fair in love and war. The winner of the oxymoron award of the millennium. If any of the aforementioned events were the slightest bit fair, what would be the point in having them?? Euphoria state of mindless wanderings into a coffee house for a single shot of malt liquor. Living for the status quo but not caring to compete. And the worst part, we wouldn't even know any better. We wouldn't know that all the while living, we didn't even perform the basic act we thought was the most important part of life. And on our tombstone, years later after the subtle ending to our pathetic existence, people would stare at the dash between the dates of our inevitable births and familiar deaths. Because this symbolizes everything in between. Everything that is no different than the person shacking up in the grave next to us. Not one exciting act that would have made us the slightest bit different then every other lover and fighter. And all because we were naive enough to believe in a simplistic statement that can't even be drawn up for petty cash to pay for breakfast. And for what?? To grow a new generation of mindless drones that fight for the cause that no one bothered to learn. But, hell, all is fair in love and war, right??
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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