I was taught to hate the things
That i do not understand and that are different;
That are unfamiliar and foreign to me,
Like the mother tongue of a girl who immigrated
From a war torn land
And the preference of a boy
Whose only safe place
Is that in the arms of a boy
Who utters nothing but only the kindest, sweetest of words
In hushed whispers in his ears;

But it is an exhausting lazy thing to hate
I have learned;
It will be my responsibility
To teach the next generation, instead
To love and open the door
To different and foreign,
Because there is nothing more beautiful
Than to knock down
the walls built long before us
to restart
and rebuild.