You're willing to die for a country
That will exclude you from being able to serve.
You're willing to **** for a country
That still thinks a Bible is a valid argument.
You're willing to contribute to a conflict
That isn't as big a threat to your life
As the people you've vowed to protect the liberty of.
And you do it again and again
With a fraction of the respect patriots demand veterans are entitled to.
Because you've decided to put the needs of the complacent
Above your own human rights.
And you'll get no thanks from them,
Because they can't sleep easily at night
Unless they can rip off your clothing and see what's in your pants.
And if it doesn't add up to their image?
You can sacrifice your life for theirs and they'll still call you a freak.

I'm living in a skin that's not my own -
instead resembling something of a man
who hides for fear, or else confronted, ran.
Now as I wear this self, so loosely sewn,
with shreds of muscle hanging off of bone,
it seems to be that anything I can,
I do to dodge the truth of who I am.
In multitudes or mirrors, I'm alone.
So I take solace here, that in my rest,
as surely as I'm speaking to you now,
you'll know the truth about my state of heart.
And though I am no Nietzsche or Descartes,
I'll postulate, grey templed, furrowed brow,
my heart has ne'er beat truer in my breast.

“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche

I write love letters to you
Not because I want you to respond
Not because I want you to love me back
But because I want you to know that
Not matter what,
I will always love you,
and I am yours
Yours Truly.