My poems of love are usually sad.
Let's see how this one goes.
Love is love, it's a simple sentence.
Three words.
But for the world it's a difficult thing to comprehend.
I've been fortunate enough to have a family that understands but somewhere else in the world there's a place where no one does.
People are being rounded up, and killed like roaches in an infestation.
Shoved off roofs, shot in the streets and for what.
For loving just a little different.
For living as themselves.
My heart is heavy.
My mind unsteady.
Thinking of how my family would act if one day I came home for christmas with another man on my arm.
He'd be welcomed and greeted with the kindest of hearts.
Because here love is love.
And I wish the world could love like this.