|Image from Smithsonianmag.com|
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
|Image from www.sharedhope.org|
"Front door opening," announced the electronic voice as I entered the kitchen where *Shayla was busily preparing Valentine's candy for an upcoming banquet. I walked past the cubbies where girls hang their coats and studied her face for a moment.
"Do you like school?" I asked.
What else do you ask a sixteen-year-old who's spent most of her existence earning her keep from a pimp's bed?
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
|photo credit: Gizmodo Shoes|
I tossed and turned for a while in bed last night, thinking about what a misfit I am. How I don’t seem to fit neatly into any cultural corner: I’m eyed with suspicion by my gay friends when I profess to be a born again Christian. I’m eyed with suspicion by Christian friends when I confess to enjoying the company of my gay and very nonchristian friends. And sometimes I'm painfully aware that I do not belong in groups or events involving certain brands of people in pretty packaging with plasticky smiles and platitudes dabbed on saintly lips and—that is a good thing, actually. But it makes for a lonely existence at times.