I knew this girl,
I held this girl,
I love this girl.

Everyday, something happened:
She was hurt,
She tripped,
She was bullied.
Why?

Because she was different:
She wore rainbow stockings while others wore white?
Her hair was spiked in all directions?
No.

They loved the rainbow stockings,
They loved the messed up hair,
They hated lesbians.

My sister was a lesbian,
And she is an angel,
The hate of this world creating her wings.

Are we born with hate?
Are we born with love?
Or are we just born?

Why do we fear?
Why do we ridicule?
Why must we be the same?

What is the point of matching?
What is the point normalcy?
What is the point of being the same?

My sister didn’t match,
My sister wasn’t ‘normal’,
My sister wasn’t the same.

She lived by her own standards,
She played by her own rules,
She was different,
She was happy.