Oh, No. Oh, God. It's Me. I'm you.

When I was young, Had I heard your voice, I'd have said, You were a queer. Someone said, That in the Bible, Those like you were bad. Those like me were good. You were gross, And I was healthy, You were sinning, And I was worthy. But, in grade 9 or 10 A pair of legs had caught my eye Legs, those of another man Foot, ankle, knee and thigh No, oh, no, I wouldn't be A sinner liking Other guys I was good and they were bad! There's no way I'd be a fag! But then I saw those legs again, And I had my first crush, But it wasn't on a girl, It was a guy who made me blush. This wasn't right! This was wrong! I needed help, But I sat alone, Because I feared I'd be disowned. My face was red And sodden with tears, God had been the artisan Who crafted all of my worst fears. I read that book, While I was alone, The one that said, That I was good, And you were not. In the end, I have concluded, You had been right, And I had been wrong. I no longer hate those like you. I cannot hate those like me. It makes it difficult to cope. It drained me of so much hope. Now, instead, I love you so much, And I'm really sorry for what I thought, While I was a child, Judging out loud, People who I didn't know, People who I couldn't figure out.