In the age of the super hero complex, he tried to save his own soul. He had the words to change the world but he bottled them up inside. The only words he needed never came. Like waiting for the train that left hours ago. And when the time came to give up, and head home, something happened. He realized that walking back to where it started will never get him where he needs to go. One breath. One step. That's all he needed. One breath. One step. And when he took the last breath and the last step, he looked back at the cape and smiled.
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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