Don't Be Like Me


United States
32° 4' 52.5324" N, 81° 4' 51.546" W

Rage and run.
Blow your brains out
with self-love.

Don’t be like me.

Fight your mother,
fight your father,
fight your obnoxious
pimps, whoring you out
for peasant profits.

Don’t be like me.

Flee from abuse and call
it what it is—
the traps of love.

Masturbate your way
into Nirvana,
and piety.

And as you walk
conflicting paths,
of heroin addicts
and sodomites
of ascetics
and nuns,
the pure.

Be the unloved child
of diverging bloodlines.

Reveal the folly of the saints.



These are my thoughts on what it feels like to sit in church, where your father is your pastor, your step-mother is daughter to one of the mothers of the church, and your grandmother is one of the beloved "saved". Now I want you to pretend that you are a little black gay child, sitting in this hot church, among people you love, who do not know yet that they secretly despise you. I want you to pretend that you live in a world of black and white, where the "wicked" are not allowed to be beautiful at all, and that they have no knowledge of the beauty of God. That is what inspired this poem. Vengeance, a cry for help, a gallant declaration of war against the hypocrites who denounce the piety of the "damned".

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