Gay People

Imagine being in a room, then imagine the walls of that room on all four sides are so close to you that you wouldn’t be able to fulling extend your arms in front of you or to the side. That room is dark, there is no sound coming into this room, it’s damp in the room, it smells like concrete, old, moldy concrete. Only darkness is here, only silence is here. These walls that hold you captive are, however, so thin that you can feel the touch of others, you can feel the warmth of Jamaica’s golden sun. You can see all that is going on around you, you can hear it too, you like that thing called reggae music, it makes you feel. And the most annoying thing oppressive thing about being in the room is not being able to speak. With fully form lungs, exquisite plum-brown lips, and a perfectly placed tongue. except like I said, only silence is in this room, only darkness is in the room.

That sounds like a really fucked up room, to be in, much less live in, I’m leaving it a bad review on Yelp. This is inhumane, I’m calling customer service, I need to speak to the manager! This room represents my body, those walls represent my skin. This is what it feels like to be gay and in a country that will applaud, promotes, exacts and perpetuate the discrimination of gay people. That was a 28-year long stretch I spent in that prison of silence. I had had enough of this shit! I made up my mind, I was over it, I was going to yell until my lungs broke or until sound came out this month. Something was going to happen, I figured I don’t have anything better I can think of doing before I grow old and die so I might as well try something new. I mean what’s the worse that could happen from me finding my voice, right? If one is not there, then I’m not missing anything, if there is one there…well, mi neva plan out dat far cause, I certainly wouldn’t even know how to act, I’d probably lose my mind.

I’d speak often, as often as I could, I would speak about myself, using my new voice, I’d define myself in those things called words, I would speak about what that room looked, smelled and felt like for me. I would speak for myself and I would speak for others who I felt were like me, and even some people who aren’t like me. Maybe I would be loud, maybe I would scream at the top of my lungs, just to see how many decibels I could get up to. Maybe, I would get so tired of hearing ‘no’ that I would enjoy saying, YAAASSSSS! For every freaking thing, just because. Well, the reason would be just because I wanted to. Maybe I would describe the world a little differently because I was tired of hearing people say the same old shit, the same old way.

Now let’s go back to the room. Imagine that the silence in the room was from people out in the world hitting mute on a remote it was your turn to speak. When it was your turn to speak as you, undefined by the world? Imagine a church that hits mute on you, then imagine that your very tiny island home had the most churches per square mile in the world. Imagine, that a culture you are a part of and was born into, not by any choice of yours, hits mute on you. Imagine friends and family disowning you, equals to mute. Imagine you being so hopeless in this room, that even you hit mute on yourself. Why do gay people do so fucking much? I don’t think they do enough, more glitter, more feathers, and #amplifythenoise


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