Do you not see the way they stare you down, spit on your ground, and intrude your bedroom? Passive me, I sit quietly waiting for equality, while the world turns and no one takes action except those aggressive. With crosses raised and bibles highlighted they preach and shove down my throat the words of God, because they know I am wrong. But Jesus said don’t judge, don’t hate, only love, yet their onslaught of persecution kills me, passive me, so I sit and wait for my human rights, as a human being, to shine through the dusty tombs of an honored but controlling faith and yet each day I find the darkness consumes, and the cold bearings on which my flesh sits doesn’t compare to that of the warm fires that are permitted to those of “natural, sane mind.” Is it my choice then? Is it my choice to be second class, not permitted to pass, unable to join arms and names with the one I love? No exchanging of rings for me, but a piece of paper will give me the same benefits. I am uninterested in the way you try to appease me, I am still separated from you because you are bound by those filled with such a menacing holy spirit that I have begun to see it as a wolf wearing a sheep’s skin. Oh how they would tease me, not even tease me, not even reason with me, but instead force their words onto me and tear me limb from limb in varying degrees. But me, oh yes me, passive me, still has the strongest desire that bubbles up from the inside of my soul, my unclean soul, to take down the prejudice chains that glimmer and shim and blind the world to how they dig into my skin and slowly bleed me out. I refuse to die, I refuse to quit, but I will wait for a time when the revolution begins, and then you will see me gnash at your bindings and escape your distastes and run across the country to find my home, my place, where equality means equality not some have rights and some have wrongs. Where love means love, not this is my love and yours needs to be gone. Where home means home, not you can try to live here but I will needle out your bedroom secrets with a comb. Where everything is fine, and I can be safe, where they won’t yell f***** in the streets like it is my first name, where I can smile and laugh and be unafraid. Where I can kiss and touch and hold her in my arms, yes HER the gorgeous girl who hold my heart as surely as she holds her tongue. Where I can breathe, yes breathe, and not have to worry about it being my last.