Sometimes I sit with myself and think about all I’ve lived though and heard in the haunting halls of the church walls. It makes my heart so heavy. I remember growing up, I so badly craved for the community to love and embrace me.
It was strange, hearing people talk of the warmth of Gods embrace. Those same hands burned my skin. Invisible chains anchoring me down to that Isolating Iron Maiden, the Judas cradle that I once called home.
Those church pews held only cruelty and snide judgement for me. Contempt and fear filled my youth. Vile whispers of what those disgusting men in the “invisible majority” would do to those like me haunt me to this day.
My first love was John to me, and I her beloved David. We were devout young fools in love. Alone we preyed and loved. Alone we came to worship the divinity of the word queer. To idolize and memorialize the feeling of a safe loving embrace like blessing from the lord.
I couldn’t forget the desperate feeling that queerness must be the highest form of divinity in her arms. Nor the depth of my heartbreak when the world tore us part.
Though I am not a religious or a woman anymore, I still crave that same loving embrace in my life again.
