I am the boy who never finished high school
because I got called a fag everyday

I am the girl kicked out of her home
because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets
because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight
through the painful, tear-filled nights.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital
because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away 
from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had.
I wish they could adopt me.

I am one of the lucky ones;
I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks,
and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.

I am not one of the lucky ones;
I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school.
It was simply too much to bear.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us
because she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use
if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore,  nursed, and raised
because t
he court says I am an unfit mother
now that I live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor
who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son
because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym
until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me
when they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person
if only I did not have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don’t believe,
but because they closed their doors to my kind.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most,

I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parents
that he loves another male.

I’m sorry you found no other way.

I’m sorry I couldn’t help.

I’m sorry.


“I don’t know why they’re so afraid of us. We’re afraid of them.”


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