statement of style

so i painted my room pink today. a new color, a new life. it's a happy color. the same pink you find on some houses in florida or some place like that. you can find one or two in san francisco, too. maybe that happy color will rub off on my personality. it's the first time i've ever painted my own room in any of the fifty odd houses and apartments i've lived in over the past thirty-one years. i guess i'm looking to settle in and stick around. and i never wanted to stay too long in any of the other places. except for when i lived by buena vista park. i lived there for three years, but my room was already a gorgeous shade of green so i never thought about painting. now i'm settling in and doing so in style. of course, of course, of course.

letters for jesus

I finally wrote back to my estranged paternal family. As usual, I thought I couldn't think of anything to write until I actually put pen to paper. I received three letters in the mail two months ago, one from my grandmother and probably gay aunt who live together in shreveport, louisiana, one from my aunt in uncle in atlanta, georgia, and one from another aunt and uncle also in shreveport. This all came about after I contacted my cousin on Facebook out of curiosity about my father. I wanted to know what he was doing and if he was completely crazy. Seems like he's the same as always. Same town, same house, same solitary existence. They all say they miss me and they're praying for me. Love that. I haven't seen or talked to any of them for about fifteen years. It's strange to get letters from them now saying that they miss me. I've never missed any of them, including my father or my grandmother. How can I miss insane, ignorant, evil, religious people? But still I wrote them back and I kept it all very surface. There were three choices: surface friendliness, dramatic realness, or silence. They all went for surface friendliness never mentioning anything about my father and why I've been out of touch for so long. They're all so happy to know I'm doing well. I can imagine they thought I must be living a troubled life without their love and support. What a joke. Do I need to tell I'm gay? I assume that they realize that I'm a queen. But do they even know what a queen is? I'm not even sure my butch closted-lesbian aunt knows what a queen is. But how do I throw that into a letter that's all about surface friendliness and my love of southern cooking, which is the one thing that I do miss from that life. Am I still in closet?