It’s been a long time since I did a personal post. And I swear this is not a sad, sad story.
When I date guys, usually if I cuff ‘em, we have what white people like to call “movie nights” where I login to my Netflix account on their game console and we cuddle and shit.
Mind you, most of these niggas don’t have their own Netflix. So let’s say the relationship doesn’t work out… usually doesn’t. I delete homie out my life and I’m hoping and guessing and wishing and praying that’s a mutual action.
How come when I log in to my Netflix, I see shit like this:
What the fuck is Sargent Frog?
The only time I’ve ever watched Braxton Family Fuckups is via the dubbed clips on Got 2B Real.
The League? How many black people in that?
I don’t see Russell Crowe.
Demitri Martin could fall into a well. I could be the only nigga in town with a rope. Long story short: He would die in that well.
This happens each and every time, so I just have to dead that shit.
Dear Next Nigga (or Non-Nigga; I’m no psychic),
Movie night will never happen. Thank the past niggas.
-Woke up with a massive headache because I slept for like 13+ hours. I don’t even know how.
-Got denied for having bad credit by Dell.com, those bastards.
-Saw my ex on Facebook being cuffed by a new nigga.
-Got a $130 light bill.
I’m ready to commit niggercide and jump off my porch.
I remember this! I remember that day and everything. Those two deaf dudes now room together. Right. Next. Door. I stay horny because of it.
…but the one that I usually want, doesn’t pay me any attention. The ones I don’t want, never give up even when I want them to.
There’s this older guy, Kevin. He’s that stereotypical male church organist. Queer as folk. Gay as all hell. Feminine as they come. He uses words like “honey” and “suga” and shit like that. He’s a vocalist/pianist. Well respected for the craft. And that’s it.
People talk mad shit about him. Faggot this, faggot that. I’ve never heard anybody respect him outside of his skills on the keys. Before I knew what gay was, I was taught that men don’t act like that. So on and so forth. He wasn’t my idol is my point. But I liked piano so when I was like five or six, I told my grandmother I wanted to play. She told me:
“That’s for punks.”
I ain’t get it. Now that I know what gay is, and now that identify as gay I understand alot of the hate Kevin endured. I look back and shit I’ve heard about him and it makes me dislike the people saying it. But I still can’t bring myself to “like” Kevin. Guess I was taught men don’t “act like that”.
Kevin had a sister who had a very long, well-known drug habit. She gets more respect than he. In these streets, gay < crackhead. But I digress.
I don’t know Kevin’s full struggle or his life so I can’t compare the shit I put up with to him and his. I do feel like I put up with a lot and for a minute I’ve been just taking it and trying my best to respect people like my friends and family hoping to gain respect in return. Letting that shit bottle up, I’ve been exploding on cue for weeks now. I don’t like talking about my problems. I was taught that is equal to complaining and bitches complain. Men are men and that’s that. So I don’t talk about my “problems”, regardless the severity.
One problem: My family doesn’t support me.
I thought it kinda started a few months back. I look back and well… When I was five or so, I told my grandmother I wanted to learn piano. She told me “That’s for punks”. I didn’t get it then. That was at 5. With all the slander and homophobia I see and deal with at 20, I get it now.
I gave up sex until July. July. July. July. July. July. July. July. July. July. I won’t have sex until July.