To the ******* at Mongolian Barbecue last night: Just because you let your short shorts and flowered headband Scream assumptions about your homosexuality doesn't mean You can make those assumptions about others, Forcing red-faced shame and trembling knees on a stranger, Your hands clawing the pride from blue eyes like Storm clouds making the world grey. Butch and **** are never words that should come from your lips, To someone you don't know Just because you portray yourself as flamboyant And she has her own style They carry too many decades of hatred and fear to be Tossed into casual conversation Like land mines in her closet. I don't care if you thought you were joking or being funny or cute Her leather jacket and kickass combat boots don't Paint some sort of rainbow bullseye Between her shoulder blades, behind her heart. People have enough to deal with in this world Without having to defend themselves against your ignorance, Without having to stop their tears from Making small oceans on the streets of Ann Arbor. Butch and **** should not be thrown from your lips Carelessly, Meaning none of the weight they carry. You probably didn't see her cry Because that's just the kind of person she is But I did, A thunderstorm of conflicting emotions and heart-wrenching, blood-curdling cries, A deep-seated ache that won't be washed away With my hugs or chocolate or Assurances that you are, in fact, A **** who doesn't deserve to know her. 11:30 pm she walked through the front door with red eyes and damp cheeks, Her voice thick and choking on Your arrogant, misplaced words, And I might not always get along with my sister But I felt my sternum crack right through the middle When she spoke of you, Ribcage shattering, Rainbows pouring from my lungs To try and knit her fractured, hopeful heart Back together. I am my sister's keeper. To the ******* at Mongolian Barbecue, I hope you learn to grow up and see how your Words splinter souls like weeds splitting concrete But until then *******.