She dances like a swan, gracefully grazing the water, but you tell her that only the weak are slaughtered.
Her playlist is home to millions of songs,
but you shove country down her throat in order for you two to get along.
Horror movies and gore leave her wanting more, but you force her to adore romance on the seashore, that the man is the one she should go for–
These things are easily forgotten and ignored.
But what's killing her softly is
It's the questions like
"Are you sure?" and
"Is it a phase?" and
"Are you hoping for a cure?" that leave her
Because her heart's love for males is inconsistent
doesn't mean she is nonexistent.
She can hear your whispers,
echoes of death threats.
She can feel your fingernails,
dragging her back to the closet.
But she doesn't flinch at your hatred towards her love for females
because this is what she has always known.
She doesn't have to show you her pain.
She doesn't have to be a puppet in your play.
This is her game–and she will overcome.
She knows in the end we are all the same:
a heart, two lungs, a brain, millions of veins, and DNA.
What divides us is ourselves.
must you assume who someone is?
do you choose who to fix?
is Harvey Milk a name that never sees your lips?
have you forgotten about June 26th?
can't you accept that sexual orientation should not be in politics?
Just because she's gay doesn't mean she can't love.
Love is love.
there is nothing she falls short of.
This is a poem written for my creative writing class’s poetry slam. Our prompt was to respond to social problem that affects us.