Who are we to say,
that a love is not to be?
That a love does not belong,
and can never be set free?
Who are we to think,
that a kind is not our people?
That a kind is far beneath us,
and will never be as equal?
Who are we to feel,
that a face can look unusual?
That a face must be a canvas,
and be painted to be beautiful?
Who are we to judge?
To say love is prohibited?
To think below of others?
To feel minds can be limited?