[e-mail unavailable]
Get off my case, and out of my
face.
I'm no disgrace, just misplaced in
this space.
I have found my amazing grace.
Why does the rose wither and die?
Because it's fed lies upon lies.
The luscious petal dries and falls
to it's death.
Floating upon a dishonest breath.
My uncertainty is strong, widening
and long.
Who is in the wrong? Certainly not me,
and of course not you.
I am proud to say that I am gay, yes
I do go that way.
When I'm walking down the street I can
hear your feet pounding right behind me.
You shout in my ear, you shout the word
queer.
I'm the kind you fear, I'm the kind you hate,
but it's not my fault you can't get a date.
I will not lie, your hate makes me cry,
for your hate may cause me to die.
You call me a dyke, fag, freak, pervert, cunt,
bitch, slut.
You hit me, kick me, spit on me,
hit me with bottles, and stab me in the back.
You've shot me and laughed, and have
beaten me with bats.
Your cruelty has no bounds,
you love spilling my blood on the ground.
But through it all we stand up tall,
for we are full of pride with nothing to hide.
It is your fear and ignorance in which
we do collide.
I have no shame, I am not to blame.
But if you're not the same as those who hate,
then that makes you fair game and human bait.
I've heard and even been told that
I will burn in hell for a love that's too bold.
I've been told it's a sin to love within my own
gender, but my heart does surrender to
the tender touch of the same gender.
So nothing below or above can change
the way I love.
So if love is a sin then that's the chance
I will take.
For real love I will spend an eternity and bake.
Stephanie R. Barton's e-mail address is unavailable.
Click here for a list of all of Stephanie R. Barton's Stories and Poetry at Sapphic Voices Authoresses.
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