Acquired for Private Collection
There were old photos of me—one in hunting gear, another in my mom’s heels. I wanted to be just like my parents. But I was also just… me.
In high school, my house was shot at. So was my best friend’s. We were both gay, but not out. It was a hate crime, even if we didn’t have the words for it yet.
This piece is for that brave little boy growing up queer in a small town. The one who didn’t yet know he’d survive it all and become the strongest, most confident version of himself.
He’s still here. And I’m so damn proud of him.