Raised

I've been raised in a world that dictates who you can love.

Not by the foundation of their character, but the structure of their bodies. 

A point where I feel ashamed to mention that the girl walking past me is beautiful.

Too ashamed to mention the time I reached for her hand and wanted to hold it.

Not for a hand to hold, but because I wanted hers.

Specifically hers. 

Difficult to fight; can you help liking who you like?

As I mumble the acceptance I can't bring myself to accept,

who is doing the greater disservice?

Me to society?

Or me to myself?

Poetry Slam: 

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