The fight

It's not fair
Having to compete with perfect skin



It's not fair
Having to compete with perfectly chiseled bodies



It's not fair
Having to compete with an Adonis



It's not fair
Having to compete with great personalities



It's not fair
Having to compete against those stronger than you



It's not fair
Having to compete with stereotypes


It's not fair
Having to compete with the wealthy


It's not fair
Having to compete with beautiful voices


It's not fair
Having to compete with astronomical talents


It's not fair
Having to compete with friends


It's not fair
Having to compete with family


It's not fair
Having to compete.

Are you proud of me?

Someone once asked me,
Are you getting married?
I told them I didn't know.
They asked if it was because I didn't want to get married.

No.
It's not that.


I dread the day I wed.
Not cause of my man.
Not cause of my friends.
Not cause of all the people that might dissapprove.
It's not that.

I don't care about protestors.
I don't care about angry church leaders.
I don't care about homophobes, bashers or haters.
It's not that.

You see, I love my parents.
And they love me.
I told them I was gay.
They were ok with it.

But sometimes I can see that in their eyes
they just don't want it to be true.
We never talk about who I like, or who he was
Or what bar I went to on the weekend.

We don't talk about my future,
How I want children
A house with that white picket fence
With a park, a playground, and big blue skies.

It's their eyes.
Full of dissappointment.
When I look at their faces
Right before the altar.
Their fake smiles
Hiding the pain
They have in their hearts.

I fear, looking at them holding his hand
I fear, seeing them clap for me as we kiss, yet not meaning it
I fear, they will love me less
I fear, they will always hate him
I fear, to see the dissappointment in their eyes.

Again.