(love is a terrible thing to hate)

 

My sister called me in tears, "I'm sorry you can't be out at home. I'm sorry you're afraid."

My mother tells me that I can tell her anything, she'll always love us.

My father tells me I'm strong. He says I should always be true to myself.

He tells me he's proud.

 

After the pulse shooting, my mother said the real tragedy was the first responders

forced to slosh through pools of

tainted blood/tainted blood/tainted blood

as it drip drip dripped

from the bodies that littered the night club floor

(the blood of the queer men she says 'kinda asked for it".)

 

My sister sneered when the LGBT+ community laid blame

at the feets of heternormatibity/homophobia/straight culture

"If you guys don't appreciate your allies, you'll get no where and it'll be your own fault."

 

My father laughed.

 

(I cried)

I argued on twitter

(I cried)

I wore my pride shirt

(I cried)

I donated to charities for the victims

(I cried and cried and cried)

 

"Maybe if they didn't need their own club..."

        "Maybe if they weren't so obvious..."

                 "Maybe if we stopped letting in muslims..."

 

                       (...maybe if we didn't give him a gun...)

               (...maybe if we didn't hate anyone who was different...)

       (...maybe if anyone cared...)

(...why doesn't anyone care?...)

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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