his gives me the chills
It makes me ill
I had so much time
Partner in crime
We could have killed
But something spilled
I know where you are
I've been with the emotionally stilled
Its not too late to break
The hate
You could pass it on and live like the apes
Or you could shed it off
Be one of the greats
You got this, the looks
The moves
The hips that twist
A motionless shift
As you move to the spit
The they told you to flip
I think you could make it
You've got the steel to take it
So really fake it
Roll over and shake it
Let them take your essence
And smile while they rape it
Or
Be the link that breaks it
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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