You won't know until you know. Quivering breath consumes your moment. All the words you rehearsed, no longer imaginable. It stretches for infinity but snaps back like a rubber band, and grounds you. You forget the reasons, and relive the intentions. This is not what you imagined. Unrequited energy knocks you to your knees. Breathe in. Breathe out. The oxygen ignites your lungs. Your soul fires the rage. And the last thought, was always him.
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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