My Homophobia experiencesHomophobiaMy Homophobia experiences5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Ever wonder what is on the other side of Homophobia?
Try to imagine
You are in the second grade,
And tell a girl she is pretty and you "like like" her.
She looks at you funny, says, "My mommy says people like you go to hell."
You cant comprehend,
Isnt this normal?
Sure the other girls have boys they like. But you...You dont understand.
Time passes. You're in the fifth grade. The dance is coming up. You want to ask this really cute girl.
But now you understand...
You are as weird as they say. So, You ask a boy. He takes you, and you're miserable...watching the girl you like being held by a boy.
You dance, when someone whispers in you partner's ear. He pushes you off and yells, "Dyke!" His crew laughs and the girls throw things, punch you, bruise your arms to teach you the sins.
You go to the car...your mom asks what happened, she knows it was probably your step-father again
So what, I'm humanSo what if I'm a dyke?So what, I'm human5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
So what if I'm gay?
So what if I'm bi?
So what if I'm pans?
So what if I'm trans?
So what if I'm a tomboy?
So what if I'm flamboyant?
So what if I'm different?
People aren't all alike,
Not everyone is born straight
We don't all get to choose what things we are
It's not the same as being scene,
Gender and orientation aren't choices
It's just a way of life,
who we are
Ridiculed for things we didn't choose
In the end we are people
Not just animals, we are not creatures
I wouldn't call us monsters
Sinners isn't even accurate
Just call us
MomentsI am five years old.Moments5 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The boys in my class have just been teasing me about my last name. It is, unfortunately and a little ironically, Gaye. I'm at my desk crying while my first grade teacher talks to the boys in the hall. My best friend Garrett sits down next to me and tells me that I shouldn't cry because my name is spelled different than "the bad kind". I stop crying because I find that strangely comforting. But the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach doesn't go away.
I am eight years old.
I'm reading a book from my favorite book series, the Alice series by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. The book series started out age appropriately enough but as the girls in the books have gotten older, so has the material. The talk of innocent handholding and who likes who have turned into full on discussion of sex. But even though I know I'm not supposed to be reading things like this I continue to devour each book. At the part I'm at Alice has just seen her best friend kissing another girl at the ma