My Love Letter
Dear Queers,
I’m sorry homos, I mean no disrespect. So please don’t inflect my direct dialect. I was born in a time
when we played awful games to those we called flamers to fill them with shame.
“Smear the queer!,” they pummeled my face. It really fucked up my mental headspace. I learned to
embrace the woman inside. At first it was gay, now today it’s trans pride. As the years went along its
been called many names, forcing me to start asserting this claim. I’m no different from you! I’ll no
longer be tamed.
He, she, ze, they: the endless parade created by them to win and to maim the essence of human
that makes us the same. At the end of the day the pronouns won’t save the imminent decay of our human flesh. To dust, to dirt, to clay. It all goes away. Our clothing, our names. Our memories will fade. So don’t be afraid for what God really gave.
When others invoke that some old weak phrase that our sin, not theirs, gets His direct graze.
Remember this letter to remind you today, I know for a fact that God loves the gays!!
I love you Queers. Stay safe.
Honor
Pronouns: Meat popsicle.