Believing I was wrong
Almost to much to bear:
Such loathing, hate, and fear,
By my hand, mass produced.
Crafted with sweat and tears,
Terror of what could be loosed.
And now it is complete,
I have left the machine,
And its arduous feats,
I’m ready to be seen.
I have been paid my wage,
A wretched recompense,
In currency of rage,
I’m bitterly incensed.
Now I must spend it, lest
In the bank it languish,
Collecting interest,
And festering anguish,
Investment of ire.
Withdraw the rage money,
Incendiary cash,
I will throw it away,
Let it all burn to ash.
I don't want your money,
I'm going to break free.
You can't pay me to hide,
To be quiet and small.
Not anymore.
I shall say gay,
I’ll scream it.
I’ll scream it at the top of my lungs.
I’ll scream it until the day
No one else suffers,
Grinding the mill of internalized homophobia.
I’ve earned this anger.
I’ll use it to buy my freedom,
To attack the machine.
Break the gears,
Tear the sprockets apart,
Down with homophobia and its parent company,
Patriarchy Incorporated.
Burn it to the ground!
You’ll never hear the last of it,
Until I’ve spent all this cash rage.
It burns holes in my pockets.
Let it burn you, instead, Patriarchy Inc.
You silenced me,
Turned me against me,
So that I feared what you feared.
You were afraid of me and my ilk.
Because we confound your system of oppression.
We won’t let you hold women and queer people down anymore.
As you give, so shall you receive.
Its coming back around,
And I’ve still got lots of this stuff setting fire to my wallet.
Have some. Have it all back.
You’re going down, bitch!
It’s a stage of grief,
For what I lost.
For the child that suffered.
If only I could go back and tell them.
It’s ok. You’re ok.
But I wouldn’t have listened to me.
Thirteen and afraid.
God hates queers, right?
No. He doesn’t.
I’m telling you.
It’s ok.
It’s ok.