I wish I could just hold on
Don't you remember in the winter
You wore my coat and danced with it on?
Frigid cold air brought a shiver to your hips
You found no warmth from my lips
Now it's too far from you
You should've held on
Don't you recall in the summer
When your lips met mine
While we sat upon the tire swing?
Butterscotch sunshine drenched our bodies embraced
You found shade in another's taste
You mustn't remember a thing
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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