Itís written in the girlsí bathroom
on the mirror in angry lipstick the color of hatred,
laughing as I stand there, staring.
The stalls are littered with it in permanent marker.
And there are flyers hanging on every wall
with it written in thick, black ink.
It drips like acid off the tongues of
no-nothings and morons with narrow minds.
I see their minds like tiny corridors,
all the doors shut and everything dim.
But there are others like me, non-discriminators,
supporters of Jews, volunteers for the pooró
people who care.
I imagine my mind like a grand hall,
doors wide open with various themes
and diverse peoples living, breathing, being
in each one like a million tiny worlds.
They see everyone as crammed together
in a single tiny, bland corridor, all faces covered in the
same masks, plastered to their faces like
cement stuck to the skin.
If you rip it off to be yourself, you rip off everything,
and you are ugly and bloody beneath.
They open a random door for only a second,
tossing you outside like a creature
of such disgusting status that none can bear
to look at you., let alone know of your existence.
I see everyone spread about as a magnificent
celebration with different views, opinions,
and, yes, even costumes of crazy schemes
and silly face paint.
If you take the superficiality off, you see the truth beneath:
That we are all the same so we open our arms,
reaching out to draw you into our world
like you are the way you are.
You're our very own.
So when I see the words
"Sarah is a FAG"
written in lipstick on the mirror,
I take the time to wash it off.
When I see the permanent words on the stalls
Stating either false or true that
"Katie M. ATE OUT Sam Walter,"
I take the time to scratch it out.
And when I see the signs hanging in the halls,
their black ink seeming to graze my eyes
as they confirm
"STEFANI DRUM IS A LESBIAN,"
I take the time to remove their judgement.
And when the teacher asks why Iím late
for her " more important" class,
I answer by holding up the sheets and saying,
"Iím gay, and I was offended.
Is that a problem?"
And when she says nothing at all or tells me
how "inappropriate" my words are, I will smile,
saying nothing more because I know
that Iíve been heard by someone listening in that room.