It’s as simple as this, you do what you want, as long as it comes in society’s font. I'm talking about New Times Roman, no Comic Sans because loves only reserved between a woman and a man. No takesies-backsies, no second chances, through your fingers opportunity dances. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I don’t know if I want to hold her, but it’s too late to decide because I’ve been dictated to keep my pride, told that being this different is a reason to be scared and not to follow those who have dared - dared to love and dared to fight, each day dreaming of the day all would be right. Everything is thrust upon us, a storm of lies thunders in, as we stand here just trying to get by. We keep our heads up though they push us down, just for calling it bi; they have limited love to a black and white, a this or that, we have no option but to fight. And if we damn well dare attempt to lash out, we’ll have a lot more to answer for, no more time to hang about. It’s death, it’s trial, it’s shame and denial; a family broken, and for miles and miles, it’s just you alone and they don’t even know that while you wonder your legs begin to feel slow; and if love is illegal, then what’s the point, you'll just be left, another anointed person to carry out traditional love coupled with condition. The horizon has shrunk, the red has faded, the earth in bright contrast to its people so jaded. And I believe the world is changing, that the ones uniting as a nation, are teaching the world of old anew, that no matter what, there is love for you.
