I have always made up songs, but putting black marker to cardstock gave me a different kind of voice.
Glitter on the Altar is an eight-page handmade zine exploring the years I spent inside an evangelical megachurch trying to pray away my queerness. I became their golden boy, leading worship and youth groups while living in constant terror of being found out. This zine is about the performance of spiritual healing, the absurdity of church culture, and the moment I finally broke free.
Page 1: The cover
GLITTER ON THE ALTAR: Confessions of a Cartoon Masc
Designed by Adam Rye (adamrye.com)
Page 2: The masc costume
"I was a Saturday morning sidekick, goofy as hell and harmless on purpose. An asexual giggle machine.
Avoided lust at all costs and assumed everyone else was living the same sexless safety.
My guitar only played worship music and Weird Al.
I didn't wear masculinity like most men... more like an outfit, hiding the swish in my walk."
Page 3: The show
"THE SHOW.
We were told to LOOK for signs: fluttering eyelids, flushed faces, hands lifted, fainting faux panic attacks.
I muttered fake tongues like a Pentecostal Pokemon:
'Ooo baba kawnda shuda bot uh honda!'
I performed 'God' like a half-baked improv set, DESPERATELY thinking about nachos and Levi's forearms just to get through the prayer."
Page 4: The poster boy
"I performed the miracle, BUT THE TRUTH was I was only 19 when I joined.
Terrified after an STD scare with zero sexual health education, I ran to the megachurch in my college town seeking safety, male warmth, and music.
Instead, I became their golden child: the perfect poster boy of pray-away-the-gay. I practically lived in those auditorium seats, running myself ragged trying to perform their endless standards."
Page 5: Miguel
"MIGUEL.
They introduced me to their queer friends, hoping my 'healed' testimony would rub off. But they didn't know about Miguel. My high school beard who transitioned after college, they were living AUTHENTICALLY, a lighthouse showing me that queer joy was real.
So when the prayer warriors pushed and shoved, praying just 'flip him like a lightswitch,' I swear to Cher, I braced my knees.
If their god wanted me slain in the spirit on the floor, he better THROW HANDS."
Page 6: The revelation
"THE REVELATION.
I spent a decade swallowing my light, thinking that electric 'filled with the spirit' feeling only belonged to their god.
But in 2019, standing in a sweaty crowd at a Lizzo concert in Tampa, surrounded by lights and thousands of voices, the truth hit me:
I didn't need Jesus or a temple to feel holy.
It was never church. It was the magic of music."
Page 7: This is healing
"THIS IS HEALING.
In 2016, I finally walked away, realizing I could simply be a HAPPY QUEER MAN without the weird pressures of church.
This is what healing looks like: not their altar, not their pity. I sing with my whole chest, wear crop tops, and call this joy holy.
My Sundays are no longer for auditorium seats; they are reserved for kickball and rollerblading."
Page 8: Sacred sparkle
"This zine is a love letter to the kids who survived the relentless pews, the pushing hands, and the constant pressure to change.
Your sparkle was always sacred.
Find your community:
Behind the zine
I drew this zine with a black marker on my kitchen table, folding each sheet into eight panels just like the punk zines that gave me refuge as a teenager. When you survive twelve years of spiritual manipulation, putting the story down on paper in bold black ink takes the power back from the institutions that tried to edit you.
Physical copies of Glitter on the Altar are printed in limited batches and available in person at local Tampa Bay community events, PFLAG gatherings, and pop-up markets.
