Our world has become a mistaken image
Our bones buried in common rage
We pray to God our souls to keep
And judge ourselves by our favorite page
But what sin has retained our disfavor?
You are of this land, in which you take stock
You know its pain but give it to another man
Because he was born a flower and not a rock

¿Por qué se le tiene miedo a su corazón?
¿Por que hombre?
¿Por que?

Did God give you a sword
Or send a dove?
Was his strength for oppression
Or compassion?
Was every soul made for hate
Or for love?
Is vengeance yours alone
Or nailed to the cross of passion?

¿Por qué intentas daño a tu corazón?
¿Por que hombre?
¿Por que?

Do you wish to rise holding their chains
Or to give them wings
Do you wish to be buried with armor
Or with good deeds?
Do you wish to close the gates behind you
Or bring them all?
Do you wish that God would set fire upon us
Or tear down the wall?

¿Por qué están tratando de matar a tu corazón?
¿Por que hombre?
¿Por que?

We must exist together
Though we may not understand
We were taught to love one another
And to never raise our hand
We must use rocks to line the garden
And not destroy what grows within
For what another man may desire
Only God can comprehend

¿Por que hombre?
¿Por que?

Everybody's walking
'Round in circles
Promising the shadows
To keep searching
For the hidden answers
For the thrown out child
With the hateful parents
And the sole desire
For acceptance and a little while
Free of judgement,free of hateful comments
And yet do they mean it?
Do they really care?
Maybe they just want to
Be regarded heroes
By the clueless masses
And be it the case
At least they're not spitting in the child's face
For the so called fault that he has

nice college
girls yelling
*****
*****
***

knees on the
ground in this
dark basement
a stupidity test
oath of a blind

allegiance join
the cult drink
this beer or you
are gay conform
conform conform

sure i cried after
but not from the
half hearted
abuse cried
for them  

cried for the
part that
died the part
that didn't
want to call
them out to
leave early

the part that
was still a kid
the part that
could not care

they had no
control over
me that night
i killed me

I do not have a gay agenda
That consists of me stealing your faith
Crushing your god
And molesting you with my eyes
If you pass me in a crowded hall.

I do not have a gay agenda
That consists of me taking the minds
Of innocent children
And leading then into devil worship.

I do have a gay agenda
That consists of me (a girl)
Finding the perfect girl
To call my wife
And start a family with.

I do have a gay agenda
That consists of me letting love be fluid
Labels have no meaning
Or bounds
And letting religion roam free.

So with my simple gay agenda of love
Why are you so worried?
Are you afraid that my agenda will beat out yours?
After all love trumps all hate
In the end
One way or another.

I am Christian. I believe in the
Trinity of the Holy God, The Son, and The Spirit,
I believe that Jesus is the Son of God and the savior of mankind
I own more than three Bibles
I teach Sunday School every week and
I pray every night.
I am Christian,
And as such I
Hate queer....

Phobia. I can not stand intolerance
And I cry at hatred,
Blood running in the streets,
Fear running in veins,
Running away from the truth.
I am Christian, yet
There are bloodstains in my Bible
And the prayers on my lips
Are for forgiveness for who I am.
The entire story of ***** is
Crossed out, blacked out angrily
In the dead of night
In all 4 versions,
Leviticus is blurred,
Wrinkled with my tears,
Soaked with my pain.
I am Christian
And I am not homophobic.
I know my church won't recognize
Non cis-het marriages,
Leaving entire worlds of rainbows in the dark
The higher-ups insist
Weddings are white, shiny, husband-and-wife, happily-ever-after affairs
That shove me and my friends, my  family, my lovers,
Into closets of heavenly wrath and
Fire and brimstone sermons,
Locked into personal hells of shame
And confusion.
I am Christian
And I am not straight.
My God doesn't hate me for who I love,
He loves me because I try not to hate.
So to the homophobic Christians, I ask:
Who is your God?
Who is your God that supposedly condemns people He has created in his own image?
Your rainbow picket signs are nothing but a cruel mockery of a covenant
Not truly shared by you.
Your tongues are no better than the viper's who called Adam and Eve to sin,
You are the vipers of my world.
Do you think you avoid judgement
When trans teens are killed
By the bullets you spit with your words?
Who is your God,
That tells you to picket the funerals
Of those you hate?
Who is your God,
That refuses to let you open your heart to differentness?
I am Christian,
And I don't need your permission to
Love my God.
Take my scars and tear-stained Bibles,
Listen to my fervent prayers,
Watch my lips tremble when
I listen to my pastor.
I don't need your permission
To love who I want,
In fact I don't want it.
Take my midnight screaming and fear of coming out,
Listen to my frantic pleading for a hand to hold,
Watch my eyes linger on her chest.
I am Christian.
My God doesn't hate me for who I love,
He hates you who refuse to love
While you carry His name, if
Not his blessing.
So I ask again
Who is your God?
Because mine loves all of me,
All 5'6" of queer pride.
Who is your God?

Homophobia is not funny.

Care to hear what is?

The wrenching fear boring holes in your best friend’s once bright eyes
every Thursday afternoon, when she must enter a changing room filled with hostile glares

The violent purple bruise re-emerging beneath your brother’s left eye
the same bruise he told your mother about three weeks ago
that he’d “gotten in a rugby accident”

The gnawing feeling of loneliness in your classmate’s stomach as she lies in an otherwise empty bed
no longer able to hold her girlfriend’s hand in public
following a run-in with her mother at the supermarket

The boy next door who can’t bring himself to leave his bed
Immobilized with anxiety and wrapped up in the sheets
(it’s been six days, nine hours, and forty-two minutes since he told his best friend.)

The young woman who serves you your coffee on Saturdays
living on less than minimum wage for three years now
Since her mother left her to the streets

The kind boy you used to date, he’s been single for years
Caught and confused between miserable safety
and endless happiness

- - -


I lied before.
Not an ounce of wit lies within these words.
This is simply
an open letter to homophobes:

Find some ******* ******* originality for your jokes.

Does evil change? Does it mean
something different to
each passing generation?
I rather think it doesn't
but instead wears some
dark mask to disguise hatred.
Looking into the future
it sees a people
who have abandoned their fight.
Subdued by unfortunate
laws and happenstance,
disappointment is normal,
until the cruelest evil
is met with a sigh
and casual acceptance.
Take heed that circumstances
that appear to have
improved beyond improvement,
are most dangerous to those
who are still oppressed
by lingering prejudice.

I. When watching TV with my grandmother, we stumble upon a film about two beautiful girls who fall in love. When they kiss, she turns away from the screen. Every time.

II. I'm getting reading for school in the morning, and turn on an episode of my favorite show. When two of the boys kiss, I glance away out of habit, and my mother whispers, "It's just so strange."

III. I'm making lunch in the kitchen when my grandmother remarks, "I don't think anyone can know they're gay until they try being straight." Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore.

IV. One of the boys I grew up with keeps telling me that I'll find the right man, no matter how many times I correct him.

V. When my friend finds out, she says it's okay. But she refuses to hug me.

VI. I'm out to dinner with my cousins when  one of them says, "I have a friend who's a lesbian. It's so hot." I excuse myself from the table and spend the rest of the evening sitting in a parking lot.

VII. The boys at school say "***" every other word.

VIII. The girl in the locker room refuses to change next to me.

IX. My grandmother finds a love poem in my room. I tell her it's a part of a school project.

X. In class we talk about gender roles, and a boy gets up and says, "You have to teach your kid to be manly or he'll end up being gay."

XI. Someone says the word "****" and I feel like crying.

XII. The youth pastor at my church tells me that I can be cured.

XIII. Everyone tells me I'm wrong.

XIV. I tell myself I am wrong. Every single day, it repeats in my head like a sacred chant. I tell myself I don't deserve to live. Until the day that I don't.

--------------------

I. I watch every movie I can find without looking away.

II. I smile every time they kiss.

III. I develop a stronger stomach.

IV. I correct him more forcefully.

V. Her sister hugs me twice as hard.

VI. I slap my cousin across the face.

VII. I decide to see it as a term of endearment.

VIII. I stop taking gym.

IX. My grandmother finds a love poem in the room. I tell her to calm down.

X. The girl beside me tells him to shut his mouth.

XI. Someone says the word "****" and I feel like laughing.

XII. I pray for her.

XIII. Everyone tells me I'm wrong.

XIV. I tell myself I am wrong.

XVI. Until the day that I don't.