Wasted and worn out and wondering, 'Where do I fit?' And scared as hell 'cause I knew I was different. What's it like to be normal? To want what normal girls should? God knows, life would be easier. If I could be normal, then, trust me, I would. Trust me, I would.
Marching in line in the halls of my Catholic school, seven Hail Marys if I copped an attitude, and God was a word I had spoken but I hardly knew, kneeling down at the altar with no clue who I was talking to.
'Pray for anything,' my mother says. Can I pray for my body to unloosen into a thing that does not invoke shame? Can I pray for the weight in my chest to stop yearning for women? Can I pray to repent for things I never felt sorry for? 'Pray for anything,' she says. And I do.
I have been astonished that Men could be Martyrs for religion - I have shudder'd at it - I shudder no more - I could be martyr'd for my Religion - Love is my religion - I could be a martyr for that - I could be a martyr for you.
My mother thinks that who I love is evil. The church told her so. My mother thinks that who I am is evil. The church told her so. My mother thinks that I am hurting. But the church did this to me.
There is no god. At least, not a loving one. A loving god wouldn't have let it happen. A loving god wouldn't have just sat back and watched. A loving god wouldn't have hurt an innocent child, again and again and again and again and again and-
There's a devil here on this Earth! I saw him! He looked like a human, and talked like one, too, but his tongue was twisted and his hands were wicked. It gets even worse; he spoke God's word to excuse his devil's work. He took my angel wings and blamed You, Lord.