Love Has No Gender
Love has no gender, no reason or rhyme
Love is just love, it is not a crime
Don’t let bullies or bigots ruin your life
If you’re a girl, you can have a wife
Boys can love boys, yes, it is true
And don’t forget transgenders, they matter, too
There are more options than I can name
No two persons are exactly the same
Love is love, remember that’s true
Keep your heart open and love will find you.
Love is Love
Love has no gender
Love is love
Love is not something to be joked about
It’s not something to be chosen
Love is who someone is
It doesn’t matter
Who people love
All that matters
Is that the love is true
To be with whoever they want
Everyone deserves to be loved
Everyone’s love deserves to be accepted
Let people live their lives however they want
It doesn’t matter if you don’t agree
It’s not your life
Respect is earned
And if you can’t respect love,
I can’t respect you
Because love is love
It has no gender
A woman and a man
Walk hand in hand
Because they can
They live in a dreamland
I glance her way
She stands slumped
I want her to stay
But I'm stumped
No one would accept it
Not here, not now
Not even one bit
How could they allow
A girl to like a girl
A boy to like a boy
They would hurl
Insults and slurs with joy
I walk over to her
'Hey' I say
My hearts a blur
She's whisked it away
'Oh, hi' she says quietly
Suddenly I don't care about society
I think I'll stay for a awhile
A young boy scribbled away on a piece of paper. A furious passion burned with every crayon he picked up and every marking he drew. He used a yellow for a bright sun and blue for the sky it shared. Some shades of various red colors for the backgrounds. Even a brand-new color created from a mixture of different colors to help his work stand out. His deep concentration forced his tongue out briefly. Once he finally finished, the young Michelangelo smiled as he gazed into his perfected masterpiece.
The bells rang all around the elementary school and all the children scurried out for the weekend. The boy walked outside, still smiling and staring at the beautiful artwork he made. Pride filled his heart as both eyes inspected every perfect detail of the drawing. This was meant for two special people in very young life and he couldn’t wait to show it to them. His pride corrupted into a panic when the drawing was snatched out of his hands.
Two other boys dangled his drawing before him. They mocked and harassed him before, but their intentions were much crueler this time. One of the bothersome bullies waved the drawing around like a ragged flag then started tearing it in half. Rage finally engulfed the boy as he tackled his harassers, slamming his fists in a blind fury against the bully’s face. He felt a firm grasp pinch his shoulder when a nearby teacher yanked them apart.
Over the next half hour, the boy sat alone in a chair just outside the principal’s office. His red knuckles and the bully’s bloodied nose earned him the principal’s generosity of a week’s worth of detention. Forced apologies from both parties weren’t enough to ease his crushed heart and stop his principal from calling someone familiar to him. The door opened, and a police officer stepped out. It was a woman with short blond hair, dressed in a typical black police uniform, exited out of the principal’s office and shook his hand after their conversation. She escorted the boy out of the school and into the back of her police car.
Not one word was uttered during the ride. The boy averted his eyes down. The officer focused her scowl at the street. It wasn’t the first time she was called into the school from a similar incident, after all the conversations they had about never using violence to solve a problem. She sensed that she would have to remind him of this lesson yet again, only to likely be ignored next time. When she investigated the rear-view mirror, her anger eased into sympathy. As she continued to stare into the mirror, her heart ached when she saw her son gazing down at the torn halves of his once beautiful drawing. Tears rolled down from his eyes when his hard, creative work was merely shattered due to another example of life’s cruelties.
The police car halted at the curb of the sidewalk, and the officer exited her vehicle, slowly marching around to the door where her son sat. The boy stared up at his mother when the car door opened. His heart became heavier, the thoughts of another harsh scolding felt unbearable. Not this time. There was no scolding, no yelling, or any harsh words at all. All he received was a large hug that reminded him that the world wasn’t all bad. The boy wrapped his small arms around his mother’s neck and squeezed back, and the tears poured even faster. All those hurtful words and those bullies had said to him, and all what they had done to his drawing expelled away from his thoughts the longer him and his mother hugged.
Another ride down the street led the pair to a local ice cream parlor. They walked inside only to be surprised by the sight of a girl, who was a dear friend of the boy, and her mother standing in line for treats. The girl and her mother waved to the boy and his mother, asking them to share a table. All four laughed and talked and enjoyed their delicious frozen treats. When it was time for them to depart, the girl gave the boy a gift; it was his drawing now taped back together. She presented the drawing back to him and planted a small kiss on the boy’s cheek, much to the boy’s delight as he smiled and blushed bright red. Both moms smiled at the cute little couple then reminded them that they had to go home. After saying their goodbyes, both families walked back to the cars and departed for home.
Dinner was fast approaching as the sun was setting on a small house. Inside was a woman with long red hair, dressed in a light green sweater, and wore a brown, hand-stitched beret, who was setting a series of porcelain plates on the dining table. She looked up and smiled at her decorated wall of photographs of her family. A skilled photographer, she captured every moment of their lives from cookouts with their friends and families to birthday parties and holiday events, all preserved in small, square, wooden time capsules.
She heard the front door open and the announcement of the arrival of her wife and son.
The officer and the boy to walk into the dining room where the second woman waited patiently. The two women greeted each other with a light hug and a quick kiss on their lips. The boy gave his second mom a large hug to which she gave the same response to her young son. He then raised his precious drawing before their faces, excited to show off what he drew.
Both mothers smiled and teared up when they happily examined their child’s masterpiece: the three of them holding hands and smiling together with large words in the background that stated:
I LOVE MY AWESOME MOMS
“You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.”
#lgbt #lesbians #family #feels #repost
even if I told it linearly, there’s still no straight explanation.
I want to say I’ll remember you this way,
the way you are on a Monday morning, when your hair was short and your curls sprung from your head in rays of gold, and summer was
I want to say I’ll think of you like I did
on a Thursday evening, tucking fake diamonds like secrets into your palms, hiding your smile beneath lipstick as dark as the paint beneath my fingernails,
a spring awakening.
After, I remember the awkwardness,
the discomfort of you, the way you looked when you flirted, the way
your shoulders snapped to your ears like a deer in the headlights, as I sat with a boy I’d never met and will never meet again,
alone in a sea of machines
Abandoned, affection curdles in my chest,
the way wood glue curdles on the tips of your fingers, curling into itself like
your dirty socks in the back of my car, as you pressed your lips to mine, and I pulled
I’m not confused, except for in all the ways that I am.
You had him, his golden hair and sunshine smiles, his careless laughter and confident uncertainty, scattering jokes like abandoned seedlings in the wilderness of the world, and he
had you, your knife-sharp eyeliner and bullet-shaped sarcasm, reckless and self-assured in your own destruction, hurling like a meteor into danger like you always knew you’d make it out alive, and I
had you, on rooftops and stairwells and under basement lights, breathing smoke into my mouth with every dark ring you left on my lips, until
you had him. And then
you had me.
Which of us was it, that wasn’t enough?
I love you so.
I'd follow you wherever you
Don't you see.
You are the brighter
Side of me.
With your short brown hair,
Your tight blue jeans.
You don't know,
What your love means.
Chameleons are quite great
At self disguise.
Even you can hang
With all the guys.
No matter you're deep voice,
You're size 13 shoe.
A girl to me will be,
If that is who is you.
She watches from the outskirts. She loves him. She loves him. She loves him. She loves her? A woman walks along the sidewalk holding hands with a man who will never understand. Never will he know of what happened between his girlfriend and the woman sitting on the bench behind him. Mainly because there is nothing to tell. Maybe something, some little hint of a romance that would never actually come to be. A fleeting look between starcrossed lovers to scared to actually be. Being a couple, starting a romance wouldn't be an atrocity but because of who they are, two seperate lives on the same path though neither one can accept what they love. Love has no gender, love is neither a woman or a man, but unfortunately love has gender. Love has a man and a woman, and a woman and a woman or a man and a man. But the latter are forbidden, forced to hide in shadows, fleeting glances of something that turned into nothing after all. Like the woman I watched walk the sidewalk, holding the hand of a boyfriend who will never know.