Silence
Says more
Than a thousand words.

A smile
Means more
Than hours of laughter.

The look
In your eyes
Speaks where words fail.

And a single heart,
Given with love,
Can bring more joy than a whole jar-full.

I was taught to be myself
That knowledge was the best kind of wealth
That I would grow up to be someone great
Now that's all demolished because of the hate
Trying to find myself
In a world full of lost people
Is like trying to find a piece of hay
In a pile full of needles
Everywhere I go
I get poked
People with all their gay jokes
Or the ones who try and tell me that God doesn't love me
Oh I'm sorry I didn't know you spoke for the Big Man up above me
And people ask the dumbest question
I feel obligated to give sarcastic answers
See the ones who judge me
Are usually the ones who don't know me
I can be your best friend
Or your worst enemy
It all depends on how you treat me
And people usually don't understand
That I'll be hated forever
Even if I can get married anywhere
Hatred will live on forever
Which we shouldn't be proud of
And what will our children think
When they look back at our history
Oh they hated gay people
Like that's some big mystery
See I could talk about this all day
I'll take my pride all the way to my grave
Live each day as if it were my last
While you're busy hating me
I'll just look at you and laugh

I want you so badly
and it makes no sense

well really it makes perfect sense
I just like complaining.

She knows she’s in
the sepia photograph
but doesn’t remember why
or who the others are

or why she dressed
as she did back then
or why there was a dog there
at the front

she keeps the photograph
tucked between
the pages
of the black Bible

some clergy gave her
and a dark secret
she was forbidden to tell
and sometimes

that short woman
with the Mongolian features
steals it to gawk at
then she has to go get it back

sometimes violently
which brings the nurses running
with their rough hands
and strait jackets

or that skinny woman
who always stares
takes hold of it
and stares at it

pointing to the various faces
of the males and females
and at the dog
and smiles and wets herself

and then laughs loudly
which causes
the other inmates
to bellow or laugh

or cry or scream
bringing the nurses trotting
with their what’s going on?
or what’s all this then?

she holds the photograph
to her ***** when she can
or tries to remember
who they all are

staring back at her
including herself
and when the quacks
question her

about the photo
as to who is who
or why she has kept it
she doesn’t have a clue

and one said
she ought not to have it
as it disturbed her
but a nice nurse

(and there were some) said
o no doctor she needs that
there will be hell to pay
if she doesn’t have it

tucked between the pages
of the Good Book
she kisses herself some days
talks to one or two

of the others there
but who they were
or to whom she speaks
she doesn’t know

and on cold wintery days
she looks toward the sun
for a message
or a warming glow.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm still a lil'
In love with you