My struggle in penning this essay is rooted in me trying to write it from the perspective of a man who resides in a place too many outside factors won’t let me rest in contently.
Initially, I wanted to kick things off with recalling how I was once told by a dear friend and lesbian friend of mine, “You dance like a f*ggot.” It was said as a compliment, but it struck a nerve because it was a realization I long held myself, which is why I used to not dance publicly. I didn’t want to be pegged so easily, you know? These days, as noted by other friends, you can find me twerkin’ with no shame at a tourist attraction or sidewalk near you.
I wanted to use that transition as some larger metaphor to explain how I’ve become at peace with some of the feminine traits attributed to gay men that apply to me in the midst of all the ones that don’t, and as a result, get me called things like “fauxmo,” “non gay-gay,” and the like (which make me laugh). The goal was to show I’ve meshed aspects of myself that are considered “manly” and “womanly” and became a better person overall – regardless of what anyone thinks.
It sounded so nice when I envisioned this piece and that sense of relief I wanted to convey. But I just couldn’t and finally it hit me: my anger lingers. Hauntingly so.
Read the rest here. ‘Twas hard to write so you should.
And then you should email it around. And tweet about it. And share on Facebook. And print and mail by pigeon — preferably to people who can give a boost. All that.
Edit: The link was changed apparently. Fixed.