As I scroll down my Facebook News Feed daily, I am forced to see visuals of black and brown bodies: some dead completely covered in blood...
Two scenarios occur when police assistance is needed. In neither scenario are the cops deemed to be helpful.
This broken child, asking his mother for her last dollars to go on the train putting on the same worn out clothes, that smelt of cheap and neglect...
I am here to recollect the stories of one family. A family who must face judgment from Death, the decider of its fate.
I'll admit it, I was a choir boy. I was the kid that would have singing lessons with his grandma that wouldn't end until I held my notes longer than her.
Imagine a 15-year-old boy going to Pride to have sex with random men. I was looking for belonging in dark places where they only wanted me for my body.
“So…” my dad said. “I heard that you were gay.” “I am,” I said as I moved from underneath his umbrella. “Well, you know you are going to hell, right?”