I Can't Date Jesus: Love, Sex, Family, Race, and Other Reasons I've Put My Faith in Beyoncé

If someone’s “preference” is that I am not good enough, oh well. It’s their loss. It doesn’t require that much of my energy. Someone who values you less will not be convinced by your public crying about wanting to belong. I am less interested in wanting to belong and more passionate about being equal.

He liked dick and diabetes, I guess

Religion can make you suspend your better sensibilities. Its success in making the faithful fall in line, no matter how foolhearty a position appeared, was rooted in how great a role faith played in people's lives.

Catholic guilt never leaves you and follows you everywhere; it’s the herpes of your conscience.

it's often said that knowing who you are, or at the very least possessing a sneaking suspicion of such early in life, is a blessing. The people who share this sentiment need to write it on a piece of paper, ball it up, and then proceed to pour barbecue sauce all over it as they eat it. Early self awareness is a blessing only if you are comes with a support system and an education. If you don't have those, it's easy to find yourself feeling stuck and sullen. I learned a certain part of my identity very early, but it was met with near-instant confirmation of how unwelcome that part of my identity was to those surrounding me.

I couldn't make someone love me. I couldn't make myself desirable to someone who didn't want me. I couldn't compel someone to see me in the same way in which I wanted to be seen. All I could do was be myself, and if someone didn't fool with me, find someone else.

But when you didn't have the tools to deal with all that happened to you, you turned to whatever vice you needed in order to get through the seconds, minutes, and hours of a given day. You turned to it when you thought about moments of the previous days, months, years and decades that continues to torment you. And then you repeated the cycle of your abusers by taking out what ailed you on those closest to you.

Give me that pumpkin-spice-latte-loving penis; I need it.

In such a state of confinement, I found pop culture to be a saving grace. For many who lack access financially, emotionally, physically, or some combination of the three, pop culture is how we get to access perspectives from outside our bubbles. It helps to inform us of who we are in our present, developing who we ultimately might become. The man I've become has lately been molded by the lessons learned from the famous women I've obsessed over throughout the course of my life.

At the time, I thought I would do anything for Jesus because he was going to do everything for me eventually -- at least so long as I kept pestering him about it while being a good Christian. The relationship was transactional yet substantive at the same time, because I needed to believe in someone better than everyone around me. I needed to believe things would get better.

When I think about the kind of commitment that most people associate with marriage, I think about people losing. Losing themselves, their dreams, or at the very least a part of their happiness.

He wasn't from the best part--Houston--like me and Beyonce, but I didn't hold that against him either.

The pattern that required my real attention was my turning to sexually confused men for sexual exploration. It was like my turning to someone who can't figure out "there," "they're," and "their" to edit your essay.

The only insight I could get from the Vatican at this point included shoe recommendations and where to buy one of those bad bitch dresses priests were required to wear while performing mass, if I ever decided to switch up my style.

She didn't want me to go to hell, but couldn't see that to not be wholly human might fit my own version of hell on earth.

Her version of Jesus suggested that though he may have loved me, he merely tolerated me. The mantra 'hate the sin, love the sinner' troubled me. Because if you were under the impression that being gay was inherently wrong, you were operating from the frame of mind that I was inherently wrong. You thought I was the equivalent of irregular denim bought at an outlet mall. I was nobody's clearance-ass jean. My packaging was fine.

I wasn’t protecting my sac or my spirit.

But even if someone loves you, it’s not the same thing as loving all that you are.