“I’m Glowin The Fuck Up!” -Lil Murda

Queer

I used that line from 1 of my fave shows, P-Valley. If you follow any of my other socials (Twitter, Instagram) then you know how much I absolutely love this show.

Ok. So why tf is that line the title of this post?

Because I felt like it. & I felt like it because the moments that I experienced leading up to even thinking of that line, had me feeling like Murda when Keyshawn showed him the WSHH feature with them. That energy. That Soul Glo ✨ cuz you now in the process of mining ⛏ your own diamonds…& once you realize…that you are also the Diamond 💎 game fucking changer.

What a time. What a life, Jhene Aiko. Seeing your shit come to fruition-in the divinely timed order it’s sposed to ✨

The feeling of having pride in your work and what the fuck you put out into the world. & also tremendous gratitude for what was, what’s happening rn and for allllll the beautiful, magical, wonderful experiences coming.

Give thanks. Gratitude for the doors and windows 🪟 that’s opening for me-& the right ones at that. The ones that feel good. That feel at ease. That feel joyful. That’s for my highest good & the highest good if all involved. Them joints that feel right & aligned ✨ give thanks.

PODCAST: The Joyful Experience

I am so pleased, so grateful and sooo excited to be sharing this Podcast & more of myself with you.

As you will hear in the Podcast, I am a 12H sun. With Jupiter in my 8H…Capricorn Mercury and Venus…ine into foolishness.

This 12H energy has me in the cut working on self in several ways, which I’m not mad about at all. & sometimes, I am beckoned to “show my face” & in this case, share my voice.

So. Here I Am.

& I am absolutely delighted to be able to share some of my innermost thoughts & feels regarding dating and mating with Astrology-& how you relate to your own birth chart.

Big up and Big love to all of the professional astrologers that have guided me these last few years and really helped a bih understand more and grow.

I am ever grateful for every opportunity and every gift. & this Podcast was certainly that.

Big love always to my beloved colleague, fellow author, writer, bad ass Scorpio witch and friend, Kat.

Give thanks for our queer family tree that’s been growin from AOL online/chat room times (yeah we old-ish) lol. I’m hella grateful for such a wonderful opportunity. That shit was hella fun.

Syncere, Guest Host. The Joyful Experience Podcast, August, 2022

Listen To Full Podcast Here

Tender Boys & Mama (Ms. Ernestine)

Queer

Tender boys who grew up wit they Grammy
And all her cats
Left to sit back
Cuz when he walk, he got a switch back
That earned him tenure at her house

Jason,
Sweet as pie and quiet as a mouse
Played in the yard, barely left the house

Boys like him was hushed at an early age
At the early stage
When da men dem peep his ways
His true self died at an early age

Like his body did, from AIDS

If I could take a turn back of the page
I would hug him so tight
Let him know that it’s alright
To love and to like...who you like

To be who you be
As softly
As you would like to walk these island streets
Bey I wish I was older when we did meet

I just remember the smile

The smile that showed me early, it was ok to be the Sun
even if some folks prefer shade…


Jason,
I remember you.
I honor you.
I love you.

My first known queer Ancestor
I remember ✨🕊
~Syn
Uncle Clifford and Ms. Ernestine

Jay Pritchett

Queer

Closets, Closets, Closets

It’s where we keep our stuff.

Sometimes, it’s where the ones around us, the ones who claim to love and care about us…the ones we also love the most…want us to store, hide and compartmentalize;

the parts that they, their friends, surrounding and immediate communities wants us to keep hidden and locked away. Because it’s more comfortable for them, as long as that part of us is stuffed in there-without a trace, without a say.

Now, the catch is, living here on this island and in this country- even though the doors are welcomed to be open, there’s always someone there dangling locks and keys in your face, when your stuff is too boldly displayed.

Be yourself!-

wait, but not like that…

Your Paradise Is My Hell.

I Suppress Where You Vacation.
Paradise? Nah, been lost. 
I usually keep my hair shaved pretty low on the sides. So I went on Instagram and searched for the least threatening/aggressive/misogynistic seeming barber on island to get a haircut since I had been back home for a while and was long overdue. Found some cool looking dudes. & got some inches off the top and back to the usual, close on the side. In barber terms i'd say probably a 1.Got home to the displeasure of my aunt and my mum, by the looks on their faces, they hated it.
 

part 1:

I don’t like it, I like your hair when it’s longer

-my Aunt




part 2:

Make sure you don’t cut your hair anymore. I don’t like you looking so much like a boy…

-my Mum
According to astrology I'm in my profection year that deals with family and roots. & I'm reminded why I left this place in the first place.

All those years of being away
from these prominent figures and triggers
This trauma and drama
& these closets
& half ass acceptance
receiving whatsapp messages on repentance
feels like i'm serving a sentence
in a picturesque hell
be you; but make sure you hide that gay shit well
lest you be the topic of conversation
in a "christian nation"

I Suffer Where You Vacation

Facing
constant backlash and retaliation
simply for existing
as me
Never free
& if you dare to be- here comes that lock and key

Do u Remember The Time When…

Bisexual, Gay, gender, Lesbian, LGBTQ, qpoc, Queer, qwoc, sexuality, Transgender

You came out to your family?

I wanted to share this with others.

Here’s a story I just read via my feed on FB. I guess FB is good for something sometimes…aside from the chisme and folks who dont really give a shit about your well being, but wanna just keep up with your moves…O_o 🙄

THE BLOG
Just Because He Breathes: Learning to Truly Love Our Gay Son
Linda Robertson Jul 01, 2013

On the night of Nov. 20, 2001, a conversation held over Instant Messenger changed our lives forever.

Our 12-year-old son messaged me in my office from the computer in his bedroom.

Ryan says: can i tell u something

Mom says: Yes I am listening

Ryan says: well i don’t know how to say this really but, well……, i can’t keep lying to you about myself. I have been hiding this for too long and i sorta have to tell u now. By now u probably have an idea of what i am about to say.

Ryan says: I am gay Ryan says: i can’t believe i just told you

Mom says: Are you joking?

Ryan says: no

Ryan says: i thought you would understand because of uncle don

Mom says: of course I would

Mom says: but what makes you think you are?

Ryan says: i know i am

Ryan says: i don’t like hannah

Ryan says: it’s just a cover-up

Mom says: but that doesn’t make you gay…

Ryan says: i know

Ryan says: but u don’t understand

Ryan says: i am gay

Mom says: tell me more

Ryan says: it’s just the way i am and it’s something i know

Ryan says: u r not a lesbian and u know that. it is the same thing

Mom says: what do you mean?

Ryan says: i am just gay

Ryan says: i am that

Mom says: I love you no matter what

Ryan says: i am white not black
Ryan says: i know

Ryan says: i am a boy not a girl

Ryan says: i am attracted to boys not girls

Ryan says: u know that about yourself and i know this

Mom says: what about what God thinks about acting on these desires?

Ryan says: i know

Mom says: thank you for telling me

Ryan says: and i am very confused about that right now

Mom says: I love you more for being honest

Ryan says: i know

Ryan says: thanx

We were completely shocked. Not that we didn’t know and love gay people; my only brother had come out to us several years before, and we adored him. But Ryan? He was unafraid of anything, tough as nails and all boy. We had not seen this coming, and the emotion that overwhelmed us, kept us awake at night and, sadly, influenced all our reactions over the next six years was fear.

We said all the things that we thought loving Christian parents who believed the Bible, the Word of God, should say:

We love you. We will always love you. And this is hard. Really hard. But we know what God says about this, so you are going to have to make some really difficult choices.

We love you. We couldn’t love you more. But there are other men who have faced this same struggle, and God has worked in them to change their desires. We’ll get you their books; you can listen to their testimonies. And we will trust God with this.

We love you. We are so glad you are our son. But you are young, and your sexual orientation is still developing. The feelings you’ve had for other guys don’t make you gay. So please don’t tell anyone that you are gay. You don’t know who you are yet. Your identity is not that you are gay; it is that you are a child of God.

We love you. Nothing will change that. But if you are going to follow Jesus, holiness is your only option. You are going to have to choose to follow Jesus, no matter what. And since you know what the Bible says, and since you want to follow God, embracing your sexuality is not an option.

We thought we understood the magnitude of the sacrifice that we — and God — were asking for. And this sacrifice, we knew, would lead to an abundant life, perfect peace and eternal rewards. Ryan had always felt intensely drawn to spiritual things; He desired to please God above all else. So, for the first six years, he tried to choose Jesus. Like so many others before him, he pleaded with God to help him be attracted to girls. He memorized Scripture, met with his youth pastor weekly, enthusiastically participated in all the church youth group events and Bible Studies and got baptized. He read all the books that claimed to know where his gay feelings came from, dove into counseling to further discover the whys of his unwanted attraction to other guys, worked through painful conflict resolution with my husband and me and built strong friendships with other guys — straight guys — just like the reparative therapy experts advised. He even came out to his entire youth group, giving his testimony of how God had rescued him from the traps of the enemy, and sharing, by memory, verse after verse that God had used to draw Ryan to Him.

But nothing changed. God didn’t answer his prayer, or ours, though we were all believing with faith that the God of the Universe, the God for whom nothing is impossible, could easily make Ryan straight. But He did not.

Though our hearts may have been good (we truly thought what we were doing was loving), we did not even give Ryan a chance to wrestle with God, to figure out what he believed God was telling him through scripture about his sexuality. We had believed firmly in giving each of our four children the space to question Christianity, to decide for themselves if they wanted to follow Jesus, to truly own their own faith. But we were too afraid to give Ryan that room when it came to his sexuality, for fear that he’d make the wrong choice.

Basically, we told our son that he had to choose between Jesus and his sexuality. We forced him to make a choice between God and being a sexual person. Choosing God, practically, meant living a lifetime condemned to being alone. He would never have the chance to fall in love, have his first kiss, hold hands, share intimacy and companionship or experience romance.

And so, just before his 18th birthday, Ryan, depressed, suicidal, disillusioned and convinced that he would never be able to be loved by God, made a new choice. He decided to throw out his Bible and his faith at the same time and try searching for what he desperately wanted — peace — another way. And the way he chose to try first was drugs.

We had unintentionally taught Ryan to hate his sexuality. And since sexuality cannot be separated from the self, we had taught Ryan to hate himself. So as he began to use drugs, he did so with a recklessness and a lack of caution for his own safety that was alarming to everyone who knew him.

Suddenly our fear of Ryan someday having a boyfriend (a possibility that honestly terrified me) seemed trivial in contrast to our fear of Ryan’s death, especially in light of his recent rejection of Christianity and his mounting anger at God.

Ryan started with weed and beer, but in six short months was using cocaine, crack and heroin. He was hooked from the beginning, and his self-loathing and rage at God only fueled his addiction. Shortly thereafter, we lost contact with him. For the next year and a half, we didn’t know where he was or even if he was dead or alive. And during that horrific time, God had our full attention. We stopped praying for Ryan to become straight. We started praying for him to know that God loved him. We stopped praying for him to never have a boyfriend. We started praying that someday we might actually get to know his boyfriend. We even stopped praying for him to come home to us; we only wanted him to come home to God.

By the time our son called us, after 18 long months of silence, God had completely changed our perspective. Because Ryan had done some pretty terrible things while using drugs, the first thing he asked me was this:

Do you think you can ever forgive me? (I told him of course, he was already forgiven. He had always been forgiven.)

Do you think you could ever love me again? (I told him that we had never stopped loving him, not for one second. We loved him then more than we had ever loved him.)

Do you think you could ever love me with a boyfriend? (Crying, I told him that we could love him with 15 boyfriends. We just wanted him back in our lives. We just wanted to have a relationship with him again… and with his boyfriend.)

And a new journey was begun, one of healing, restoration, open communication and grace. Lots of grace. And God was present every step of the way, leading and guiding us, gently reminding us simply to love our son and leave the rest up to Him.

Over the next 10 months, we learned to truly love our son. Period. No buts. No conditions. Just because he breathes. We learned to love whomever our son loved. And it was easy. What I had been so afraid of became a blessing. The journey wasn’t without mistakes, but we had grace for each other, and the language of apology and forgiveness became a natural part of our relationship. As our son pursued recovery from drug and alcohol addiction, we pursued him. God taught us how to love him, to rejoice over him, to be proud of the man he was becoming. We were all healing, and most importantly, Ryan began to think that if we could forgive him and love him, then maybe God could, too.

And then Ryan made the classic mistake of a recovering addict: He got back together with his old friends, his using friends. And one evening that was supposed to simply be a night at the movies turned out to be the first time he had shot up in 10 months — and the last time. Ryan died on July 16, 2009. And we lost the ability to love our gay son, because we no longer had a gay son. What we had wished for, prayed for, hoped for — that we would not have a gay son — came true. But not at all in the way we had envisioned.

Now, when I think back on the fear that governed all my reactions during those first six years after Ryan told us he was gay, I cringe as I realize how foolish I was. I was afraid of all the wrong things. And I grieve, not only for my oldest son, whom I will miss every day for the rest of my life, but for the mistakes I made. I grieve for what could have been, had we been walking by faith instead of by fear. Now, whenever Rob and I join our gay friends for an evening, I think about how much I would love to be visiting with Ryan and his partner over dinner. But instead, we visit Ryan’s gravestone. We celebrate anniversaries: the would-have-been birthdays and the unforgettable day of his death. We wear orange, his color. We hoard memories: pictures, clothing he wore, handwritten notes, lists of things he loved, tokens of his passions, recollections of the funny songs he invented, his Curious George and baseball blankey, anything, really, that reminds us of our beautiful boy, for that is all we have left, and there will be no new memories. We rejoice in our adult children, and in our growing family as they marry, but we ache for the one of our “gang of four” who is missing. We mark life by the days B.C. (before coma) and A.D. (after death), because we are different people now; our life was irrevocably changed in a million ways by his death. We treasure friendships with others who “get it” because they, too, have lost a child.

We weep. We seek Heaven for grace and mercy and redemption as we try not to get better but to be better. And we pray that God can somehow use our story to help other parents learn to truly love their children. Just because they breathe.

On June 20, 2013, at the invitation of Alan Chambers, my husband Rob and I shared an extended, unedited version of our story at the final Exodus International conference in Irvine, Calif.:

In the presentation, Rob read a letter that he’d recently written to Ryan, which you can read here. We also shared a slideshow of photos of Ryan through the years:

This piece, which was originally written for Biola Queer Underground in December 2012, was posted on Facebook on Jan. 14, 2013, which would have been Ryan’s 24th birthday. It is now posted, along with other blog posts, at JustBecauseHeBreathes.com.

Memoirs Of An Island Boi

Bisexual, Gay, gender, Lesbian, LGBTQ, qpoc, Queer, qwoc, sexuality, Transgender

20130909-101838.jpg
He got beat in the head so much as a teenager that he has permanent brain damage….

That’s what he told me in a sluggish manner as I sipped my chai on the worn, grey leather couch at OutWrite Books.

I’m from the Bahamas

he blurted without my inquiring.
His saddened face and child like innocence beckoned me.

Oh yeah? What part? Freeport, Nassau, Cat Island?

He paused. As if waiting for the memory to come to him…

You know…Oh! Nassau! Nassau! Giiiiiiirl, I almost didn’t remember.

He chuckled and there it was: his spirit. So pure and so full.

I have a hard time sometimes, forgive me, hunny

    Sweet Sorrow:

My papa and my brothers caught me kissing Travis when I was 11…they suuuuure gave it to me. They beat me bad. Man. I couldn’t go to school for two weeks ya know!
Hmf.

He sat there still & strong.

Daddy took his guiness bottle and slammed it across my face, thats how i got this:

He pointed his finger at the left side of his face and when he turned, there was a scar from left temple down to his jaw.

Agony. Anguish. Anger.

& they beat me and beat me and i cry and i cry & called for my mummy and she just shake her head and watch them. She LET THEM do it! My own ma…And all they told me was I was goin to hell!

    Hell!?! I wonder if its da same hell my pastor goin to for touchin me when I was a Lil boy at our church “boys only retreats”?

Travis.
He shook his head. That was the first boy I ever loved…

Gal, I was so happy when he told me he wanted to show me how to kiss. I didn’t know why, ya know, cuz he was a boy and I was a boy, but it felt so gooood! Like a new something inside of me when we started kissin…

Pause. Tears began to fall. & they beat me to pieces when they caught us and they send him to da states to live with his auntie so we couldn’t kiss no more…

I could feel the pain within ever single word.

He went on describing more beatings and teasing he endured throughout his years as an adolescent. If I walked too girly or sounded to much like a woman, they would put me in this brown, dingy shed in the back yard that was so stink!

Papa used to catch fish and clean em in there & when they caught me, they locked me in there sometimes 8- 9 days with no food or nuthin until I “got that sissie outta me”

My head cocked permanently to the side. At this point, this real life hell he was describing, I couldn’t lean on my own understanding…

They were trying to beat the gay outta me, but it ain’t work!

He smiled so bright as he chuckled.
They still don’t know it ain’t just a choice, chile. This is who I be.

He stood up:
It’s who you are! Who all of us are! He surveyed the gay bookstore.

Aint nuthin wrong with us, chile. God love us all. God love us ALL..


Amen.