They say they’re united but they’re not. Why do they lie to our children who watch in front of the television with eyes wide open? I grew up thinking I’d have a family. I have no one. How can we be united if you refuse to join our hands simply because we aren’t someone you can love?

Sister, why are you so sassy to the sissies that just want your love? Why is there so much shade when there should only be sun? Our love should shine bright like the sun. We are all still young. Is that why we can’t see that we are the future for our sons?

To be united, you must love, everyone, Sister. Truthfully and honestly. Not just a front. Choose to leave this back without wounds for once. Spread love. United we must.

You grow up a trapped teen because you’re weren’t like everyone. It doesn’t matter how many times he whispers under his breath that he doesn’t care. You’ve lived through it too. Go on now, tell him how it felt to grow up being different than everyone. It felt like the way Bryan felt when he tore his family apart. Blabbermouth. An example of shade, Sister, right here in front of everyone. 

Girl, I heard there’s a place where I’m like everyone. That’s right, girl. Everyone is like everyone. I show up ready to slay. My teeth are brushed, hair is combed. My outfit is snatched. I’ve brought a present because, girl, I ain’t even gonna lie, I want them to like me. Just wanna be adored. I pull up and I’m super nervous and excited. I walk through the room and eyes dart. Mouths mock. They tear me apart! Yes, girl!! All the dreams and photographs I owned of unity, they cut them up. 

We are not united or else the gay underdog would finally feel love. He feels small not because of them but because of us. Sister, you’re leaving him to die alone in the dust. My sister, have mercy on us.

We’re feuding when we need each other the most. Kind sister, a smile across the bar once in a while would be enough. I don’t ask for your body, but just for a touch.


Dead sweet Rosie had eager eyes. They were blue. She died three days after childbirth. Rosie must’ve been one of those women that can’t stand the grief. Her son is still living. However, her body mustn’t have been able to stand losing its pearl.

Rosie was just a girl when she died. She married my cousin. Rosie was a treasure. Sweet sweet girl. Her mama has never been the same. They say she burned all the photo albums in the corner of her yard. The smoke could be seen from miles away. I guess Rosie died twice.

Her mama turned to God with the ferocity of a lion. She became a pest to Him. She must’ve cursed the shit out of Him. She demanded an explanation. She would pray until he’d bring her back. God would no longer sleep.

Her son is still alive. He’s a quiet boy. They say it’s because he’s got a dead mama. He also doesn’t seem to grow. I’ve seen him twice since she died. One time at six years old and then again at nine years old. He hasn’t changed. They say he doesn’t grow because his mama’s dead. It’s like his body knows and needs her touch or something. If he only could remember the three days Rosie held him tight. He doesn’t need to know that she was scared of him. Just that she held him tight.

The man has been dead inside ever since. His Rosie died in his arms. Her blue eyes closed and his pearl was gone. There was nothing he could do. He doesn’t talk much anymore. He just drinks. No one has the strength to tell him to stop. They say he tried to lift Rosie out of the casket. It took the strength of four men to hold him down. I wonder where he would’ve taken her carcass.

He’s found another woman. He doesn’t love her; he loves Rosie. She’s been gone for nine years now. He had a new baby and he wanted to name it a female version of the boy’s name. Rosie had named their boy. The woman agreed in the name of love while his whole family rose up in protest. He’s got to forget Rosie. She’s gone. 

She’s not gone. He goes to sleep with her every night.