What do I call it? A hobby, a passion? 

I don't love it yet it rules my fashion.

I cannot endorse it, but it guides my life.

It clouds my judgment, in my mind it is strife.

No one speaks of this thing, for it must be kept hidden,

or else it will spread like germs among children.

We each have our own, all different yet same,

each holds the emotion none can be to blame.

Impetuous people will try to judge yours,

It doesn't concern them, don't let them transform

you're love for another, much deeper than they

We'll love who we love, and that is ok.