You fuck in graveyards while gazing up at imaginary rainbows.
You are the black faggot
Lower your head
Keep your promiscuous evil in your own bed.
Heathanist, unnatural colored faggot, don't step foot in the church or you'll get burned
Hypocritical Pastor sends you all to a Hell, worse than what you already live in.
Your own coloreds reject you, bury you.
We are all around you... sometimes in a whisper, other times in a roar.
Together we resemble a resilience to a storm
But colors mask darkness.
These are our stories. If you don't ask, we won't tell.
But journey into our ravaged minds.
This is who we were...
...before we committed suicide.
Delano The Prettyboy: At seventeen I was light skinned, a veteran of sex, lies and rape. Stereotypically fine; that is for a black faggot.
The boys at church thought I walked funny, like a "sissy." Church mothers told me take up some sports with hard sarcasm in their eyes.
Sunday school taught me about Rosa Parks, all those civil rights leaders, but I didn't feel apart of it. Especially since the sunday school teacher constantly told me to cut my nails.
By high school, I was attracted to masculine men, real men like heterosexuals. But these men wouldn't love me, they'd feign love with their erect dicks and slow jams for ambiance. Tinted cars, midnight rendezvous; He said he loved me, they said they loved me, but couldn't show it boldly, universally. Love spread wide open in a one bedroom apartment in the late of night, a weeknight so his girl would think he was sleeping for an early work day. I thought this was love between men, how a faggot should behave. I thought my body was my soul.
They'd come from behind, sizing me up, taking me back to dark rooms and afterward, they'd sweep me away with brooms. His hands rudely grabbed every strand of my curly long locks. Hard disrespectful man, led to an assembly line of torment. At eight teen he infected me but I was already diseased, or so they'd say. Freshman in college, senior in pain; I was poison. Branded for life by a disrespectful man who exploded my self hatred and shame. He would never call me by my name. He fucked me before his basketball game. I remember him, everytime I open the pill bottles twice a day. I've been called a prettyboy, handsome, but I've never been called amazing. My hand never been held, my soul neglected, my caramel skin exploited. My unsatisfied girlfriend enraged by the revelation. It was too much, a billion flames all over my body. Moms loved me regardless, even cried with me, held me. Dad turned away, said he wasn't dad to me. I was lonely. I wanted God to rescue me. Take me.
I let go and let God on my dormitory floor. Insense burning.
Tyson The downlow homo thug: Shawty was phat like that, had an ass I could grab on to while I dug deep in her guts with my thick nine purple dick. She screamed from the pleasure, yea I had them bitches whipped, addicted. They'd be all up in the salon reliving the conquest. My niggas would stand around me, ya know, thinkin' I was the man cuz' I always booked the baddest bitches and wore the flyest shit. I made a king pin look like a faggot. Lil fruity ass niggas would walk up and down my block, I wouldn't let em' get close. Wouldn't let one of them faggots look me in the eye.
He worked in the salon, did my girls hair once or twice. He said he wanted that fire, and shit, a sale is a sale. Money talks. He blew on the blunt, then blew on me...In the alley. My girl's best friend, Keisha, lost her bitch ass dog, musta ran in the alley. I didn't have time to get away, wasn't like she was wearing her stilettos like she usually did. Her Puma's barely made a sound against the pavement. The fag was on his knees and I was trying to get my True's up. Keisha screamed, "What the fuck?! You a faggot?" I'd never been called that in my life.
I'm a G.
I strangled that bitch. The fag ran away. The next morning, my girl told me what the salon faggot saw with his own eyes and the apology that he gave her.
I grabbed my .45
I always thought I'd die in the streets, but I was my own victim. What the fuck else could I do?
My manhood was compromised, I wasn't the faggot they'd think I was. I wouldn't have lived past the barber shop.
I didn't die like a G. But I would've lived a life as a faggot.
To the streets; Yo, I didn't mean for it to end like this.
No chalk outline, just my girl screaming.
But fuck what anyone say, I'm Tyson, King of the Streets, Slayer of the pussy.
Christian The ugly queen: I aint never have a problem with who I was. In middle school I had lip gloss, mase and a black belt. I wished a bitch would try me.
Cigarettes. I remember the burn.
The late queen from that other House was trying to slay me on the floor, she was mad because I got the trophy and she got embarassed. After the club, I was with my friends, laughing, I was in a good mood as always. Here come this late queen with her fake Gucci's and yellow teeth, coming for me. I grabbed my mase, but before I could spray, she dotted my face with the cigarette. It burned, everything went hazy then black. "Fat queen!" Thats all I kept hearing but shit I heard that my entire life. I got home past curfew because of that queen. Came home with burns all over my face. My brother called me a disgrace and punched me in my face. My mother said I deserved it and that all us faggots are animals. She always said that God was punishing her for having sex out of wedlock. I was her burden. She called me her burden. She handed me a bag and told me to pack. Started talking in that Jamaican dialect that I could never understand. She threw a Bible in the bag and threw her burden out in the streets.
I was homeless.
I was ugly.
I was fat.
I had diabetes.
And my so-called friends never helped me with those cigarette burns.
I took a stroll down the Brooklyn Bridge but I never got to the other side.
Inspired by real people, real situations.
Dedicated to all of us who never knew how to embrace ourselves
because no one told us that it was ok to do so.
Self love can save us all.
Love yourself. It's contagious.