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They spend their days applauding the rich
To keep them off the streets and make use of their glitch
Is it a disability or a glitch that snatches away their rights
Or that keeps off the sky to reach the city of lights
Where a baby can be born without a risk of a bad eye
By the simple gesture of clap turned bad whereas the birth of the baby should be celebrated with cheer and rye
But I guess that’s just the humor thicked with wryness
But we find many a homosexual whom we kindly and unknowingly address as Your Highness
The abundance of homosexual conquests to give away any hope of the lord to ignorantly receive him
Chopping off their manhood with a sword at every whim
In the bloodiest fashion reminiscent of all that’s wrong in the universe
If we could just find a reverse
It isn’t just the transgendered who feel the curse of their face
What about the acid victims bluntly speaking who won’t make it in the rat race
The media may portray them as heroines
But when the danger is past their past leads to what is simply a couple of street coins
It’s all in a visage
The idea of making money right is just a mirage
It falters with circumstance and birth right
If you were born developed enough for this world success is in your sight
Looks like transgender people have no place to go
The government should know
So why not the army so they can push the agenda of war too
But it seems like they have no country to fight for you
So don’t be afraid of them
They are born at the hem
Of a ship that signals a rough life that doesn’t soothe by a deep REM sleep
So they aren't any less capable because they still deal with deeply rooted social stigmas that would make anyone working through that weep
This is my fireback to support Transgenders in the face of Trump's fire.
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
Pretty girl,
Started out a fellow
All alone there
Hiding in her cellar
Went to the church
The priest said to confess
The scummy man
Then asked her if she dressed.

He said to her
It it was her holy duty
Then he called her ****
And grabbed her by the *****.
Pretty girl
****** now and confused.
It never occurred
That she had been abused.

But she had
A friend living next door.
That was me
And I knew she was not a *****.
Just a kid
Who in those times
Was reviled
Her gifts from God called a crime.

I took her out
Rollerskating and to dances,
As a girl.
I believed in second chances.
She left school
And started life as a fashion model.
No longer did she
Hide her soul inside a bottle.

A lovely tale
One that could have been so sad;
She stood up
From then on life was not so bad.
Pretty girl
Started her life out as a guy
But much of her
Was too wonderful to deny.

— The End —