It sometimes dawns on me that I am a devious creature in comparison to the people who followed along as children. Do you remember how it used to be? How they used to tell us that we’d be struck by lightning if we went awry? Straying from the appropriate path as decent Christians or followers of the moral codes set down by our potato-planting ancestors.
When I was a child I would stand outside in thunderstorms and dare God to strike me down for being devious. I was angry that the Man in the Sky would create me to be so twisted and true. I, like many of you, spent many decades battling against pretend sin in order to overcome human nature. In the end I learned it was all perfectly natural and perfectly alright. I was perfect from the start.
A glorious gay man. A tricky transgender spirit. The queerest soul that a soul could be. My nightlife bubbling ever so close to the surface. An artistic deviant with no boundaries. Sexually free to be me and be with those who long for lust. Swimming in pools while drowning in vats of liquor and clouds of second hand smoke. Being the graffiti on the wall. To strobe with the fiercely old. I am an undesirable. My Friends Feed has naked people on it. I’m friends with porn stars. I’ve slept with porn stars.
I’ve broken the chains of religious restrictions.
So, I turn around and look back among the long burnt out road which leads to the footprints of my stilettos. I look back at all the people I grew with and played kick the can with. They the church goers and the baby havers. They are living in the sturdy homes in the conservative fields following the letter of biblically fictional bastards.
And I realize that I am the Devil to these people. I am the Devil whom we feared as children. The Devil for just being myself. The Devil for not doing anything wrong or illegal, yet being the Devil none the less. For I follow my heart and pave my way off road.
The Devil we were afraid of and the guy we were told not to become was simply that of just being a happy person.