What are you so afraid of?                                                              ­              
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­Being gay isn't contagious                                                       ­                     
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Why can't you be true to you?                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                                
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Love anyone that you want to.                                                              ­          
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Is it wrong to be different?                                                       ­             
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Who are we to consequence?                                                     ­                             
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We're all unique in our own way                                                              ­    
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What is wrong & who's to say?                                                             ­     
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Judgement is passed so easily                                                           ­           
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Like a cycle of stupidity,                                                       ­                                                              
Do you believe you can choose                                                           ­             
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Be careful of who you lose                                                             ­                 
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Friends come is all colors & size                                                          
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Do you have so many by your side?                                                            ­
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That you can choose to discard                                                          ­                
                                                ­                                                        
everyone who's not your star?                                                            ­            
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  Words can hurt so **** much                                                             ­                                                                 ­    
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  Stop the hatred, enough is enough!                                                          ­                                                      
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  This hate could only make sense                                                            ­             
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If we embraced intolerance

They say home is where the heart is.  
How poetic. How sweet.  
How utterly useless when you wake up in a bed that smells like someone else’s city,  
when the walls don’t know your voice,  
when the streets spit out syllables that trip your tongue.  

Tell me—does this look like home to you?  
A place where I walk like a stranger in my own shoes,  
where my laughter is softer, measured,  
where even my silence doesn’t sound quite right?  
I sit in a room filled with my own things,  
but they feel stolen, out of place,  
as if I’ve broken into a life that wasn’t meant for me.  

They smile at me, they nod, they talk.  
So kind. So welcoming.  
So oblivious to the weight I carry  
when I pretend that their way of life is now mine.  
Like it’s just that easy.  
Like you can simply unzip yourself from the past  
and slide into a new skin without bleeding.  

Back home—  
(ha, “home,” like it’s still mine to claim)  
the air was warmer,  
the sky softer,  
the ground held me like I belonged.  
Here, I am tolerated.  
Accepted, even.  
But belonging?  
That’s a different kind of luxury.  

So I go through the motions.  
I drink their coffee. I learn their roads.  
I adjust my mouth to their words,  
wear them like second-hand clothes,  
a little tight, a little loose, never quite fitting.  
And I tell myself, maybe one day,  
this place will stop feeling borrowed.  

Maybe one day, I’ll wake up  
and the walls will know my name.  

But not today.  
Not yet.  
Maybe never.

Why are we different?
Because you are a brittle block of rotting wood,
And I am an immortal diamond within obsidian sand.
When angered, you will raise your hand,
But don't you dare raise it to me,
For I will stand like statue, your blow caught in my palm.

I cannot reach the fruit on the tall tree in the woods
And all the men next to me are always telling me
C'mon man, just reach up high and grab one
C'mon man, the fruit tastes so very delicious
C'mon man, every real man here can, go on
C'mon man, you can't be that small, grab one like the rest of us

Well I am
And I cannot reach the fruit they can
So I will walk further in the forest
To find a tree small enough for me

And I see
Another boy like me
Picking the fruit of the small tree
And I will say
C'mon man, let us eat the fruit together
Because surly
The tall tree is not meant for us boys.

I’ve got this wild hair,
and it’s a real humdinger.
goes everywhere with me,
whispering, shouting,
whatever the hell it wants:

“dance in the fire.”
“go talk to her.”
“drive straight into that lake.”
“what’ve you got to lose?”
“**** it.”
“jump.”

it’s gnarly, tangled,
never stays down,
a rebellious little ****.

some of my best mistakes
have come from it, too:

“one more,
come on.
what’s the worst that could happen?”

“**** the trail,
it’ll take too long.
just run down the side
of the mountain.”

“ok, sure—
let’s pack up
and move across the country again.”

everyone’s got one,
standing tall somewhere,
poking out like a flag
on a battlefield of sameness,
a single, defiant kite
riding the sky
above the canopy.

those wild ones,
they’re the beauties.
the rogue strands
growing their own way
when everything else
marches in a straight line.

I love those wild hairs.
the ones that scream
against the comb,
flip off the barber,
and refuse to lay flat.

the ones that urge us
deeper into the unknown,
to take chances—
to risk ourselves despite everything.

the funny thing is,
I think
God had one, too—

when He made us.