America
A country whose streets are paved with gold
That gold being opportunity
“If I say run, you run.”
“If I say hide, you hide.”
“If I say swim, you swim.”
The journey is a difficult one
It is a dangerous and treacherous and gut-wrenching ride
People have been lost
People will die
Just to come to America.
Land of the Free
(some exclusions apply)

1
When I tell you this story, remember it may change: god loves all (but not really).
Leviticus 18. Man shall not lie with man. “god hates that.” Leviticus, I don’t like you. You are the reason why people hate us. god makes no mistakes. he is the one who loves all. he who loves all (“unless you’re a ******”).

2
Unless you’re a ******. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. But apparently, we are the sticks. A bundle of sticks. The fuel to your hateful fire (the fire of your demise, not mine). Hate kills. We’ve all seen it happen. June 12, 2016 (only four years ago). Suddenly the pulse stopped beating.

3
Dad. All a kid wants is to make their dad proud. What about when dad isn’t proud of you? What if dad isn’t proud of you all because of something you can’t control? Can you hear me, Dad? I love you. Will you say it back? “The bible says it’s wrong.”

4
Coming out of the closet: a metaphor for LGBT people's self-disclosure of their ****** orientation or of their gender identity (Wikipedia). Hey Dad. Remember when I came out? I cried. Mom yelled at me while you stood there, stoically, with the look of a man who just lost his youngest child. You quietly told me you loved me no matter what because I will always be your daughter.  You haven’t said you love me since.

5
Do not use our love as an excuse for you to hate. Why are we the disgusting ones? Your attitude reflects in the eyes of the devil himself. I wish I could make them understand. The love I have for her, he has for him, she has for her. It’s no different than the love she feels for him and he feels for her. We are all the same. God loves us all. God created everyone exactly the way they should be. Love is the basis of this religion, yet you cherry-pick those who you believe are deserving of that love. You attempt to take on the role of a God that is not yours to assume. Only God can judge. God can judge. Can judge. Judge. You are not God. Are not God. Not God. God. I guess things really can get lost in translation.

6
“I don’t hate anyone, I just don’t agree with it. In the bible, it says it’s wrong, and I place my faith in the bible because it is the word of [G]od.” One could argue that’s not hateful. And to any other (“normal”) person, it probably appears fine. “It’s their religion. It’s their beliefs. Just respect it and move on.” But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Can you hear us? Screaming from the pits of hell that you said we were destined to burn in?  It’s not the hell you’re thinking of, though. It’s hell on earth. A hell that you created for us through your twisted up version of this religion that’s supposedly based on “love”. One we have to live through every day. “I still love you, but I don’t agree with your choices.” That gets tiring to hear after a while, you know? Replaying on a loop in our heads, day after day, night after night. “I still love you but…” The unacceptance is exhausting our minds. It’s not a choice. Why do you think we’d choose this? Why would we choose to live a life where so many people hate us?

7
June of 2019. I went to Baton Rouge Pride. You drove me, dad. You drove me there and walked in with me. Granted, you didn’t know about me yet, but you went with me anyway. Once you saw that I was with my friends, you left. Mom said you went to get coffee. When I asked why you left, she simply offered that you “just aren’t comfortable with this type of thing”. You’re still not comfortable. Sorry about that.

8
Dear Leviticus. I still don’t like you. You are the reason why people call us *******. You are the reason why people call us *****. You are the reason people think we’re disgusting. You are the reason why people hate us. Man shall not lie with man. “god hates that.” (You are the reason why my dad no longer tells me he loves me.) Thanks god.

Poetry is a closet.
It’s a hideaway for some
An escape for others
A road to get out of town
You can spill your darkest secrets without the fear of another knowing
In the darkness, you feel safe
Maybe it’s your way to Narnia
Or whatever other enchanted lands you want to visit
Poetry could even be your way to escape the closet
Telling people your secrets in cryptic ways they can’t understand
The darkness hides you from the judgment of others
You can write in peace
And the only person who can unlock the door is you