My heart is broken at the way that otherwise good people so smugly sit on national television, smirk on faces as ignorance takes over.
It’s not them, I tell myself. But let’s face it, it is.
A woman who represented the school district in Minneapolis has said that she felt “neutrality” meaning the silent condemnation of gays is enough of a compromise and “What else do they want?”.
I look at her and think, she looks like she is probably a nice lady, somewhere in that hypnotized heart of hers, but really, she’s not. Anyone who can say that as a representative of all that is holy that Queer’s, even young ones, deserve to die for being queer….well, they represent the devil to me and that, I’m not ok with.
Queer’s are weird mystical creatures, I’ll give you that, but if you want to know what’s going on inside of our minds, just ask us.
See the thing that goes on in mine is this need to maintain a life line with my higher power. I like to call him God although if these psycho’s have named their higher power God, then maybe I’ll change his name to Kyle.
So Kyle and I kick it often. In fact, he’s the only one I like to talk to about everything. And Kyle says that we were created out of love. In fact that 4 letter word that seems to seer into the souls of some is the only reason we were made; LOVE.
Kyle doesn’t like it when people pretend to be close to him and use his name to promote hate. The rest of these sheeple outside of my door who watch psycho’s that snicker at the death of children make me feel like I’m living in one fucked up version of Zombieland which is why I’ve given up on my need to leave my home. There is no love out there. And if it is, it’s so far and few between that I’d rather just stay online. In my facebook like bubble where I can listen to birds “tweet” and see faces of people who actually do have love in their hearts. Not these horrible people who make me wish i could find an exit.
Is it so hard to understand why a kid would feel there is no hope, when the adults around them would rather let them die than give them rights?
My heart is broken tonight and no amount of booze or pills or pot or morphine or anything could cure these blues. I need love, and a platform to talk to these confused people who think that I look at a vagina and like a wolf salivate. That’s not how it’s done. The body part I’m the most attracted to is the heart. The mind. The soul. And once in awhile the ass, but it always comes last.
Even if I was attracted to tits why should it be a crime? If I put a penis between my legs then suddenly it’s ok. I don’t think with my cock and neither should you. I’m not a hateful person, in fact I don’t know many Queer’s who are. If anything, we have to be the tolerant ones who make excuses for the abusiveness of our society. We are the date raped sub culture who has to take it up the ass anytime some sweaty guy thinks it’s ok to stare at us with drunken eyes, mount us because he’s been given that right, or even belittle us because he feels he’s better than us. Let’s face it, this is a man’s world, especially a white man’s world, or a rich white man’s world. None of which I am.
No, I’m a poor puerto rican with an IQ of at least 145 who happens to have enough balls to stand up for who I am. I’m telling you all of this because it’s time that some body does. Fuck being nice. It hasn’t gotten us very far. From this day forward, I’m starting a blacklist for companies that do business with hate groups. Anyone who is a part of these groups will be boycotted by myself and hopefully every other Queer in the country with 1/2 a brain. We’ve got to stop funding these terrorists like Michelle Bachmann and start doing more to promote what’s real; LOVE.
Because whether you believe in God, Allah, Karma, or Kyle, at the end of this road we will all be held accountable. I want to know that I did everything I could. Don’t you?
I’m in my house, air conditioner blowing on a hot day, The oily smell of ground beef cooking on the electric stove “Glory Glory Hallelujah” bellows from the television over the tick-tock of my walls clock The first president I ever really knew of has just died His wife stands dignified just at the the top of the stairs
on the arm of a true military man
American patriotism riding on the backs of every note sadly dripping from spit valves
The Battle Hymn of the Republic broadcast all over the country And I feel that a part of my is sliding around the velvet lining of the casket The innocence of my youth will soon be buried And no matter how challenging, or
“non conformist” I can be, I know that this is a sign of life, pushing on His wife appears twenty years older than what felt like yesterday and strangely I feel like I am a part of something bigger than me
There’s nothing like watching the flag snap in the wind against cloudless skies And before returning to my life I take a minute to realize,
that I may actually miss knowing that this man even exists…
I’m a paranoid schizophrenic little freak who lives in their own little world while pretending to live in yours and I’m aware enough to know it wasn’t the magic mushrooms or notebooks of acid but the abuse of others that’s lasted for so long in my mind and if I could find another kind of drug to make me forget all of the times that I got hit or told that no one would ever want to hold me not only would I take it I’d bathe in it.
The age of paranoia lives and breaths new life into every one of our minds some of us go mad others don’t seem to mind but when it comes to my mind I find its like traveling through a desertous cave full of mines yet every once in awhile a splash of happy little trees appears to have been painted by the child who continues to exist deep inside clouds and ducks clowns and mimes maybe it’s those random traces that still allow me to have a good time whatever it is there is no reason and there is no rhyme to the map displaying the path for my journey written by a dyslexic God that keeps me guessing about what is next and albeit odd as hard as it has been so far i can sit in any bar and mesmerize the patrons within with the story I’m living because even when I want to die i still find a reason why i should get up and try just one more time because I never know If this will be the day that the pain will actually fade.
#ProtectKnoxille was a safety campaign I designed, with a nod to organizing, promoting, and recognizing safe and inclusive spaces in Knoxville, TN circa 2016.
Many restaurants, therapists, and retail shops, especially in the downtown area of Knoxville proudly displayed these stickers in their establishments to let, especially the Trans community, know they were amongst friends.
