Dyspeptalk #9.

Every week, I hear someone complain about how the world around us keeps losing its innocence, and I’m compelled to ask them if it’s only us.

At 14, I wasn’t scared when my best friend of 9 odd years pressed his lips to mine and I drew him closer till I could taste his moans in my throat. Years later I saw a documentary on how a flower embraces a bee in the dewy warmth of its petals, and how it liberates the flower in ways untold, and in that moment, I was reminded of him.

In high school, I didn’t find it unnatural when I walked into a seemingly empty classroom and found two guys with their hands deep down each other’s pants.

And it was beautiful and fascinating, in ways only an erotic Picasso could turn on our senses, or an almost made up poem could make us ready for war in the name of undying love.

What scared me, was shock therapy for teenagers who dared to venture out of the proverbial closet, or lobotomy, and if they were lucky, a handful of sleeping pills, or 4 feet of nylon rope.
What scared me, were men ganging up and breaking cheek bones and ripping apart ribs of the guy who wore scarves to work everyday and had a boyfriend for 3 years and gave up his seat on crowded buses for pregnant ladies to sit.

What scared me, were footnotes in local newspapers about  the girl whose family raped her to cure her homosexuality, and how she killed herself, and how someone I knew, had jerked off to the story.

What scares me is a religion which condones penetration of men by bullets and shrapnel, but condemns penetration of men by a few inches of flesh.
What scares me, are the laws of love, which govern who to love, and how, and how much.

Every week, I hear someone say, honestly, I hate homosexuals.
Honestly, they don’t care.
Honestly, its a proud thing to be. Honestly, they are in love, and they know how to paint the sky at dusk, and they read poetry on rainy nights, and they write letters to friends who need to know things will be better soon, and that’s all that matters anyway.

Honestly, the road to celebrating yourself, is seldom straight.
Honestly, go fuck yourself.



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