Poem: I, Ally

My friends come out for being themselves
Often they end up feeling smaller
Almost loathing coming out of closets to a world pulling them into new ones
Hanging between exit and exist
I don’t understand why my self love is celebration
And their reclamation is read as rebellion

We are not the ones fighting this fight
Nor are we holding their swords or feeling their wounds
Maybe we are the ones wearing white flags between two troops of sin and guilt
We know only one god and that looks like love
So we are standing with our god and they are standing with theirs
And I don’t need to tell you that love always feels better than hate

I just know that if I do not take part in dismantling blocks of power that shouts oppression
Then I become one of them too
There is no neutral in the war

Life’s too short anyway for hate, why waste any of your twenty fours?
A broken home is never a good sight
I have always loved a sky full of colorful kites

It’s not for me to call myself an ally
I do not want a name for calling these people mine
Because when I expect my love to be rewarded
It’s here where my ally dies.

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Broke poet. Moody writer. Writes poetry because writing a diary is too clichéd. Dreamy eyes and thunder thighs. Maybe I will be a lot of things.

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