I come from a place where I face this problem, I’ve squandered lots of time calculating it down to the nearest dollar. A dilemma that puzzles me day in and day out, through in and though out. Every where I goes, sometimes I just want to shout.


I want to understand what it means to be a man, in a ridged “American” society that can’t tolerate nor withstand, anything that challenges conservative bland. I want to know, must I wear un-ironed pants and timberland boots, trade in my Italian high heel shoes for a ghetto seat suit. Cast aside my cosmetics and my classy stuff, for a look that is the stereotypical “African American” fuss; in the eyes of bigots that never hush the fuck up.


I want to know, must I always be referred to as the “FAG?”, an overly dramatic gay queen who is an abomination for side stepping ghetto for class. Whose trousers stay on its waist, not on the floor; walk with dignity, not like my ancestors who fought so that I don’t have to go through their pain in the years before.


What does it mean to be a man? Is it inhuman to have sensual feelings for the same sex other than, Am I confined to only express love for “woman” not man? Can’t the world just accept me for who I am? Who knows, I might just be the one to save your life when you are in a threatening jam.