Poorly Worded Letter of Passion

Great Emporer An,

I know I’m always the first person to call something “gay,” but I warn you now. This is going to be super fucking gay…

Because this is a letter to you. It’s only for you, though I want everyone to see it. I want everyone to know how amazing you are. I want everyone to be as mesmerized by you as I am.

You are quite possibly the most amazing person that I have ever met. There is not a single flaw in your character. And I think that it is exactly that which keeps me so drawn to you.

I think that it is precisely the fact that you are a good person, that makes me want to be around you so much. And to be a better person.

You’re goals babe.

You have a level head, and yet you feel passion when necessary. You’re booksmart, but not to the extent that it prevents you from having social intelligence. You’re shy, but in the way that makes people want to get to know you.

You’re tons of things. But I think what is most important to me is that you are balanced.

To me, you are balance.

You keep me balanced.

Whenever my reaction is disproportionate to something, you are able to pull me back. I need that.

I fly off the handle pretty easily.

Everyone says that I’m acting different, but in a good way. They say I’m nicer (which fuck all of you because I’ve always been nice). They say I’m calmer. They say I seem more at peace.

And I don’t want to be that stupid movie cliché and say it’s all because of you, but you certainly helped.

So I’m feeling all of this right now, and we’re hitting the sweet spot, while you’re doing an internship in China.

For two whole months.

We will be in different time zones for two whole months. I won’t be able to hug you for two whole months.

I tried to get myself in the mindset of not being able to talk to you whenever before you left, but i wasn’t ready.

I can honestly feel the distance between us.

And it’s sucks. Because I already miss you.

A fucking lot.

And I think I’m falling in love with you.

And you’re in China.

And I have to wait.

Two whole fucking months.

Until you come back.

And I can tell you this in person.

To your face.

And watch the way your eyes light up as you smile.

I can’t wait for you to come home babe. And I mean it when I say home, because even though China is your real home, you belong here, with me.


Your doggie


Di Me Que Me Amas

At work the other day, a woman asked where I was from. When I told her that I was from here, and inquired as to why she had asked that question, her reply was…

“You have those oriental eyes.”

If you don’t see the problem with her statement, hop on over to Google and read up, friend.

I’m tired of being fetishized. I am tired of being told that I look different than most black people, because it is a fact, that most black people, look different than most black people. Its called a phenotype, and unless your name is either Tia or Tamera Mowry, I think it’s safe to assume that your genetic presentation is pretty original to you.

So, sorry, Josh, Jake, John, Jennifer, Justin, Jimmy, or Jan, we don’t all look alike. (Lol that was a joke. Don’t be offended white people. I love you, but you have a lot of J names.)

I don’t take it as a compliment when I am told that I don’t look black, as a way of telling me that I am attractive. Because when you say to me, “I don’t usually like black guys, but you’re gorgeous,” what you’re actually saying is, “Normally, I think black guys are ugly, but you don’t look like them, so you’re attractive in spite of being black.”

Well, news flash; I do look like them, Bitch. And my blackness does not detract from my attractiveness, it enhances it. And fuck you, Jeff.

But honestly, my issue isn’t just with white people and their tendency to sniff out otherness like bloodhounds on the hunt for the newest falafel spot…

… white people, you love falafel far too much to have elected this president. Now retreat to your corner of the room and eat the Complicit Casserole.


BUT MY BLACK PEOPLE! You don’t get to skirt by untouched by this matter. No, because when Miss June feels comfortable enough to look me in the eye and say that I look oriental, there’s a problem. And I’ll give it to you here, because I’m sure there’s at least one person who neglected to actually look up the issue…

A PERSON CANNOT BE ORIENTAL. A rug can be oriental. Rice can be oriental. Hell, even a wig, made from the hair of a Chinese woman herself, can be oriental. HOWEVER, a person canNOT be oriental.

They are fucking ASIANS.

And I don’t look Asian. So stop it Aunt Jackie. I look just as black as you do, if not more so.

But, it doesn’t stop there. Since we are on the topic of Asians, who tend to be the largest portion of my dating pool, and only God knows why, I have a little story.

I was seeing this Chinese guy a little while back. He was awesome, and we had a great time together. He taught me how to say a few things in Chinese, which I forgot almost immediately after he taught me, but it was a fun time.

And he was really hot. Like if any of you have ever heard of Jackson Wang, I mean on that level type of hot, dude. It was actually frustrating because I knew that he was way out of my league.

wu (This is Jackson Wang)

We were definitely getting more serious, which was why no one knew we were dating. (I tend to not talk about the people that I can see myself getting serious with, due to a superstitious fear of ruining it.) But, things kind of came to a halt when he began to tell me about his parents.

The conversation went as follows…

Slightly Less Hot Version of Jackson Wang: “M’key (because he could never say my name the right way) would you ever go to, China with me?”

Me: “Totally! I mean I’ve always been kind of interested in China, but I kind of don’t want to be killed.”

Slightly Less Hot Version of Jackson Wang: “Killed…?”

Me: “Well, I’ve always read that the Chinese don’t like black people very much.”

Slightly Less Hot Version of Jackson Wang: “Ahhhh, I see. Yeah, I would love to take you home to my parents and see the reactions on their faces. I would be bringing home a guy, and the guy is black! They would die.”

I still don’t really know what he meant by this, but it kind of hurt my feelings a little bit. It isn’t why we stopped seeing each other though, we actually just both stopped having time, or stopped making time. I would be remiss to say that this didn’t add to my lack of desire to see him again, though.

It is my experience that black is seen as bad. However, it is also seen as desirable. Therefore, if someone is black, the non black attraction must find a way to justify its attraction to this black evil. White people often try to justify their attraction to me by saying that I don’t look like most black people.

On the other hand, black people seem to want me because they also see me as other. And I guess, in othering me, they believe that I help them obtain the ability to step off of this black bus that society has relegated them to.

I don’t. I’m right there on that bus with you Tyrone. I just have a window seat.

As far as Asians go, I guess they just want to use me to give their sweet old mothers heart attacks. I’m OK with that though, as long as they are always within the relative hotness of Jackson Wang.

I guess the only people who haven’t ever done me wrong are the Latinx. So ven aqui, Papi, y di me que me amas.

Total sidebar, but has anyone ever seen a pregnant Asian woman?

Also, Native Americans totally exist. I’ve just never had much interaction with them, seeing as they were almost killed out by the colonials…

You’re fucking up, White People.


Falling In Love

Falling in love is the best thing ever. The butterflies, the stupid smiles, the endless thoughts of how amazing this person is and how lucky you are to have found them.

It’s a beautiful thing.

I don’t often fall in love, I think because I close that part of myself off from the rest of the world… because I don’t think they want it. Not from me, at least.

And it usually works pretty well. I don’t get hurt very often because I don’t allow myself to get hurt. And that saves me a lot of money on depression food. Why they have yet to  begin marketing an ice cream flavor called “he don’t want you, bitch” is beyond me.

They would have the market cornered.

But when I do open myself up, it’s like I step into this wonderful world of joy and happiness and all those other gay emoting phrases that I refuse to list out. You get where I’m going with this. It’s fucking awesome.

I’m feeling those things right now. I’m falling in love.

I never thought, after the way last year went, that I would find a person that could make me feel so good about myself. Like I’m actually worth their time. Like it isn’t a chore to be around me.


Because, you see, when you’re alone with someone, that’s when you really know. When you’re alone with someone, there are no distractions, no buffers, nothing to hide them from you, or you from them.

The both of you are forced, in that moment, to be face to face, with nothing but the other person to feed off of.

And sure, we have electronics, and music, and those awkward pauses when you can’t make conversation flow, but even so, the feeling of being with that other person is still there.

And if that isn’t something that you can handle, you will know.

And if that isn’t something that you want, you will know.

I’ve been alone with this person so many times in the last month. And each time just gets better and better.

I’m learning so many new things about them. And they’re actually really interesting.

And they’re beautiful.

I’ve known this person for years now, but it wasn’t until recently that I truly appreciated them.

And I’m not afraid to show them my true self. And because of that, I’m learning that this is real.

This is real love. And not that fake shit they talk about on the internet.

You know, relationship goals? Fuck that shit, dude.

I don’t want to waste my time with someone who dresses like me, or speaks like me, or has all of the same interests as me. I don’t want to date someone just so we can take selfies while sharing a four piece chicken nugget from Mcdonalds.

Seriously, thats how you bitches look.

You take chicken nugget selfies.

Do better.

No, I want to be with someone who is so different, who I have to take my time to learn about. I want to explore their interests, and have them reveal new things about themselves to me every day.

Of course, it’s important to have a few things in common, but whats more important is the willingness and openness to trying new things.

Take an interest in their lives. Don’t live them.

Otherwise, fuck the other person. Just go out to dinner by yourself every Friday night and jack off two to three times a week. It’s basically the same thing.

This person and I do share a lot of the same interests though. We dress alike too.

In fact, the only thing that is really different about this person and I are our personalities.

That makes sense though, seeing as this person is me.

The old me. The one who was happy, and confident, and loud, and less of an alcoholic.

This past month, I’ve been falling in love with myself, as I used to be, when I was happy. Because I actually am that person again.

And I think my friends like this person better. And I’m sure that the ones who haven’t met him yet will too. Because he’s fucking awesome, dude.

I’m fucking awesome.

And I hope that I don’t lose this version of myself ever again.

That Way

With age comes wisdom. Wisdom of oneself, wisdom of the world, wisdom of how the body works and what it likes.

Sex. Im hinting at sex.

I’m newly 22 (and I will hold onto that “newly” part for as long as possible because 22 is fucking old as fuck and it’s depressing). For the most part, I’ve known what I like and don’t like for a while now. For example, I hate being hugged from behind. That same logic can be applied to sex with me. DON’T FUCKING GET BEHIND ME.

And that is as detailed as I will get about my sexual preferences. Make of it what you will.

Being a part of the LGBT community, sex is weird. It gets weirder when you toss in that I’m not gay. I actually don’t affiliate myself with any one sexuality, but that is another topic for another time. In any event, because of that, I do find myself in scenarios with women pretty regularly.

In fact, until recently, the only scenarios that I had ever been in were with women.

Again, I’m hinting at sex, people. Catch up.

Sex with men always seemed strange to me, so it never happened. I hadn’t ever met a guy who I was interested in going there with. Until this year. I met a guy for whom I felt a level of attraction that I had never before felt for another male. It was actually a little concerning how much I wanted him. And I wanted to explore things with him, but of course these things never work out in the real world. Not when all any gay man seems to care about is hooking up.

Is that the basis of the gay male relationship?


Are we so underdeveloped and repressed throughout our lives that when we come of age, the only thing we can think about is penetrating each other? (I lump myself with gay men because it makes things easier to explain.)

Seriously, though. What ever happened to waiting? Did no one else sit with their mothers as I did and watch Tracee Ellis Ross harp on about her 30 day rule? And if you don’t get that reference, I ask that you leave now.

I can not explain to you how many times I have met a guy, gone out with him and had an amazing time, only to find out that he just wants me to invade his body. I have lost out on so many great guys because I wasn’t ready to hop into bed with them on the first date. Hell I wasn’t ready to hop into bed with the biggest headache I’ve ever had in my LIFE, and I knew him for half a year.

I mean I was ready. I just wasn’t ready ready.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have hooked up before. I still do (only once with a guy). However, I don’t hook up with a person I like because ruins my perception of them.

I know myself. And I know my intentions. However, if I meet someone and have sex with them too early, then I begin to see them as nothing more than a hook up. Not because I lose respect for them or anything like that, but because it makes me think that the only thing that they were after was sex with me.

Thus, if I like someone, I ignore every urge I have, with an almost robotic precision, until I feel like I have developed a deep enough connection and level of trust that we can go there and I know that they won’t be done with me afterwards.

And as I write this, I realize that that stems from my insecurities. I fear rejection, and I have never had to deal with it. Because of this, I suppose I reject everyone else in kind. If I don’t have sex with them, they can’t leave me, because we weren’t ever together… if that was what I wanted.

And also because men need to learn how to slow the fuck down. Learn my favorite cartoon before you proposition me.

It’s Courage the Cowardly Dog. Remember that. It could come in handy for you one day.

But I digress… to me, it appears that the only thing gay men are after is sex. They base their entire lives around sex. Their relationships are based around sex. They have several different apps meant to find sex.

TO BE GAY IN AMERICA IS TO HAVE A STEADY DIET OF- I can’t finish that because my mother may be reading.

Honestly though, I have exactly zero gay friends, but I am acquainted with several gay men. Only one of them is in what I would consider a healthy relationship.

He packed up his life and moved up to New Jersey with his boyfriend, I would assume because he got stationed up there. I’m not really sure why else anyone would move to New Jersey. But I watch the snapchats of them with their dogs, cooking together, just laying around and watching TV, and smile because it’s a beautiful thing to see.

And I hope he doesn’t get mad at me for using his name, but dammit Lambertine, I’m fucking jealous of you.

I’m jealous of you because that is exactly what I want. I’m not hunting for a random hook up right now, I just want someone to watch TV with at the end of the day. Someone to go to the gym with that with yell at me when I skimp on my squats and lunges. Someone that I can try new recipes on, that will tell me that they’re the most amazing thing that they’ve ever tasted even if they aren’t. BUT THEY ALWAYS WILL BE BECAUSE I AM BOMB AF IN THE KITCHEN.

I want someone who will want to be with me just as much before we have sex, as they do while we’re having sex. Who will then get up after we have sex, put my hoodie on, and throw my textbook at me because I’ve been procrastinating on my homework.

I want someone who’s pupils are just as dilated when they see me fully clothed, as when they see me naked. I want someone who’s desires exceed the physical. Meet me at least halfway.

I don’t think that I will ever be able to find that in the gay community that I have come to know. I’m sure it is out there somewhere, I guess I’m just not looking in the right places.

Also, just gonna throw this out there, but I am starting a date tab. I am tired of buying dinner for guys who just wanna hook up with me. I’m done. A bitch is broke. So from now on, if after one date you try and get me to fuck you, I’m swiping your debit/credit card and closing your tab. The bouncer will then escort you to the nearest exit, so you can leave. I don’t have time. In the words of my cousin/best friend, “That way.”

Which way? That way.


(P.S. Im going to text you about this in a second, but this post in no way reflects my feelings about you. We’re SOOOOOOO good, even though I think I got you sick… -.-)