No movie told me the dreams of a little black boy like me were important.
No high school social activity was designed with me in mind.
Homecoming dance? The prom? Valentine's Day?
None of that was for me and my kind.
Nothing I saw in this world said this world was for me. Nothing told me I was worth something. On TV, in the movies, in books, in plays, in musicals, in fairy tales, no one ever said “I love you” to a faggy black boy."I am somebody. I love myself. I'm so much more than a faggy black boy."
Matter of fact, black boys like me didn't exist in the stories of my childhood, the boyhood tales of my adolescence, the cinematic dreams of my youth.
Growing up, not once did I see myself in art, nor did I see another person dreaming of loving a black boy like me.
I had to learn how to fall in love with myself and my dreams on my own. Thankfully, I discovered voices, characters, storylines and buddies who, in my dreams, helped me feel worth something.
Fortunately, I lived long enough to share some of those dreams in my novels, my short stories, my essays, my living by example. Yes, a faggy black boy who grew up hating himself, his family and the world can learn to love.
Yes, a faggy black boy who wasn't good enough in sports, or manly enough to hang with the bros, or smart enough to know the bros were just faking it themselves--that faggy black boy can make a life for himself beyond all the crap he was spoon-fed by the world.
I am somebody. I love myself. I'm so much more than a faggy black boy. I deserve love and happiness as much as any other soul on earth.
I've learned to love myself. Now I hope someone in the world can learn to love me, too.