• The pain of poverty...

    The pain of poverty, of being orphaned, of ambition outstripping my abilities. So are the diminished expectations of life. While I can dream big for my career, confident that I can and will make it for the sheer force of my talent and ambition, I’ve given up on my dream of love. Just the taste I had was too much. Another hurt to toss on the pile, another of life’s maby cruel jokes played upon those who dare to believe in more than what’s been handed to them.

    The pain of poverty...

    I’ve made it this far without experiencing love, what does it matter now? Now that the youth and innocence with which I would have regarded it has dissipated. I have nothing left to give. My desperation for love has been a waste of time and emotion, a constant distraction that leaves me drained of the energy I should be expending on improving my lot and station in life. Because there is no love for me. Not in this city. Not as a gay man of color. Not as a temperamental artist. I have too much going against me that somehow overshadows all that I have going for me.

    It’s all so very complicated. And I’m not wired for it. Sure, I may have wanted or needed love at one point, but the pursuit of love has only brought me misery and bred in me contempt for my fellow gay man. The animosity with which we regard each other stems from rejection. We are hurt and in turn hurt others, perpetuating a cycle of discord, leaving love a dim light flickering in the darkness of our collective existence.


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