I have had every inch of me exposed for the world to see. I've had my dignity stripped and my faith shaken but I still believe in myself, which is fearless. I've been neglected, overlooked, under appreciated, and beaten senseless in the name of the "L" word but today I find myself opening up to love again, making me fearless. And as for my passion: I get on stage with majority, but never all, of my skin exposed knowing every inch I move will be watched by the judgmental eyes of women who feel superior to me for their conservative nature, my name slandered for merely doing what makes me, me. Let them call me a stripper or a whore and bash my dancing and quote their mothers till their faces turn fucking purple, I will always get on that stage, I will always move my crowd and I will always twerk my ass off bc I am not afraid of anything, much less anything anyone on this earth has to say. I am fearless. "Hidden passageways" Out of body, efforts to redirect my attention but tantalizing memories flood. Loving her and missing her so, yet knowing better. Walking through the house with a million locked spaces, knowing my departure may be the last time I'll gave upon my chamber of personal design or portraits of My brother and I when he was barely 4 months old. Bitter sweet sickly stomach with the confusion of never wanting to be HERE but just wanting to be THERE for THEM... I quietly slip outside into the universe, my prize shining in the sun and draped over my arm. Oh, what a sickly feeling my gut has acquired since high noon. Oh, what a dizzying evening this will become.
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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