OrlandoIt’s a dream that gay people can dance and love openly. I wish I had the sense of freedom and sometimes the giddy joy I see in gay people. And I know that such a freedom and joy only arrive after a flood of tears. I wish I could cry like that. I wish I could embrace my hurt so lovingly—as I see gay people embrace their hurt.
How do they do that?
I beat the crap out of my hurt. I curse my hurt, I kick it when it’s down, “You stupid idiot! You shoulda known better.” And kick it again all the way down until it rots into shame.And that’s what I don’t get about gay people, but would like to learn. They are openly shamed all their life. Shamed and bullied and criticized and told they’ll go to hell, but worst of all ridiculed. How do you stand up and say “Hello” amidst all that?Maybe you go home and cry.Nobody knows who you areNobody knows you are thereAnd if you are seen, you will probably be destroyed. It happens all over the place. And you will burn in hell forever if youIf I what?If I mesh intimately visceral Y with and within sumptuous Y?Feel a love for him in my heart?Enjoy his company more than any other person in this whole world; he just so happens to be a man?For which of those do I burn in hell?How do you-- Oh yeah, drugs. There are a lot of drugs in boys town Live under all that? And then to experience civil rights opening the umbrella wider now protecting gays
I’m sitting in my own living room and I’m watching two bearded guys kiss cause they just got married. I feel like somebody is jabbing something into my face right here in my own goddamn house and I do not like it. They can pass all the laws they want protecting that shit, but not in my own goddamn house.See, I’ve never had to concern myself with that guy. So that joy and freedom and gentility and tears, what’s the price, what’s it cost to get all that?