there are some us who truly thrive in persecution.

i’m one of those people.
some of you are my people too.

we are underestimated heavy and gotta plop our big dicks on the table.
they see quiet or even insecurities,
but when someone is trying to fuck us because they THINK they have the big pipe…

even if we are on the role of the bottom,
we FUCK BACK.

it starts off slow but then we gotta fuck them back hard for them to get the message.

you gotta fuck them back so hard,
they tell their friends how far you shoved your dick in em.
so when i’m faced with nonsense,
i don’t do the obvious by barking back.
i go quiet; fox quiet.
the kind of quiet where i’m perched and paying attention.
it’s my way of choosing the right path before i react,
along with gathering alliances too.
from the last time i posted,
it’s been a big ol cocktail of…

its so heavy in my life rn,
i had to make a playlist of whitney’s gospel tracks and spiritual songs.

truly.
this year has been…

i faced so many disappointments,
especially with things and people i thought i knew.
i can’t even trust when i’m on solid ground anymore.
shit that don’t even make sense either.
just shit going wrong because the devil wants to fuck with me.
i told a friend the other day:

“if this was 2015,
i think i would have broken from all the weight.”

going further back,
i always use to say 2003 was one of the toughest years of my life.
2025 year has cracked me open to force me to pick up the pieces.
this year has broke me open and all the pieces…

when i was a kid,
my mother bought me a doll.
i think my mother would have been okay with me being gay tbh.
it wasn’t barbie or a baby doll,
but it was def a doll the size of a ninja turtle.
i loved this doll and played with it along with my action figures.

the way i played with toys was usually superhero shit.
the female characters were either fighting or were “damsels to rescue”.
i would create worlds with my imagination,
often times taking boxes and making tanks or battleships.

well,
one day my doll up and disappeared.
anytime my grandmother wasn’t home,
i tore her house down looking for my doll.
at a young age,
i could sense fuck shit so i KNEW she had something to do with it.

when my mother died,
she admitted she tossed it in the trash.

when i tell people this story,
they were always empathetic.
i was also told from many people that incident created trauma too.
the things our parentals did to make sure “we weren’t gay“.
when i see parents like…

Foxhole…

i’m so fuckin tired of bad news every fuckin’ Goddamn day.

like…

one of my fav male soul singers is d’angelo.
sometimes,
i play his first album because of the feeling it gives me.
his remake of “cruisin” puts me in such a good mood.

his second album brings back so much nostalgia.
don’t even get me started…

on the video that was one of my gay awakenings as a kid.

from the lips,
to the chiseled jawline,
to the bawdy (a bawdy he was actually uncomfortable with)
he was a gorgeous and soulful black wolf.
imagine my shock,
after posting that last entry on x-twitter…

i want you to do something for me.
ready?
it might be a big ask for some but…