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?

©

They don't know how it feels

to awake every morning,
and all they can wonder is
why they had even awoken

They don't know how it feels

to pick up all of their pieces,
and put them back together
but still feel like they're broken

They don't know how it feels

to say all that they can say,
and still feel like there's more
but every word has been spoken

They don't know how it feels

to go to sleep every night,
and the only hope they have
is that their eyes will not open

©

If you feed me the truth
I will swallow
If you carry the torch
I will follow
But if you fall on your knees
At the wall of deceit
I will leave you right there
Where you wallow