We crawl through streets of broken glass,

Hardly feeling the pain that scratches our battered nerves

Pain has become a constant reminder of the physical and the mental clashing

We live in silence, dying, lying dormant in foggy mirror images of ourselves

Tears form at cracking Atlas’ calloused hands

We are those whose minds form incongruences with our physicality

Clawing at our skin screaming, crying, bleeding from the veins housed in

unfamiliar, foreign bodies that are not our own

Clouds of glittering green locusts eat the marrow from our frames

Gnawing us from the inside out

Who could have ever decided to undertake such a destructive conflict?

We are the ones who have to feel our insides writhe beneath our skin

Darkness in the city is our shadowy waltz

Smudgy at the edges while we sneak around

People slowly nail our coffin lids with iron words we fight against

To pry those nails out, oh, to pry them out and live once more

Christ, jump down from the heavens

Can't you see your people are suffering?

Swallowing mouthful after mouthful of nescience-polluted water

Gulping down alcohol, taking drugs, trying to fly, just to escape the bitterness

Be the Saviour, you promised

Old dogs die hard in the Athenian temple of forgotten loves

Frenzied freedom fighters flee from fiery fury

Ducking bullets and catching flames on their heels

Bookless, wordless, thoughtless minds chase, demon-eyed

The inability to understand the absolute need for recognition

Victoria – she sits in school, pained by her name

She always corrects the already printed name

Just adding an ‘ia’ to block the masculinity

If only it was that easy

If only Victor could vanish and Victoria could appear

David -- he feels cold needles pierce his skin in the surgical bright light

Filling his blood up with the masculine oxygen he needs to stop floundering frantically

He knows the primal instincts change, chasing each shot with whiskey covered ice

The one’s baring XY have it, so why can’t he?

Numb is numb, all he wants is peace

Ivor – she’s living in sin, covered in glitter and sweat

Money, all she needs are the bills and coins

No one remembers her name, only her form, no one helps the sinners

She keeps pushing on

One more dollar, one more show, she’ll match soon

Mobile, Alabama: hell's lungs breathe onto the people

Preachers spew the twisted words of the testaments into willing ears

Sponge-like brains glue the interpretations inside, never to release them

Never accept the ones like us, who love differently or who change our bodies to match our souls

Because we'll be burning in hell and to love thy neighbour has turned to dust

The boy sitting in the back pew is breaking inside

The supposedly holy hands of this preachèd God have him by the neck,

Squeezing tighter and tighter until he cannot take anymore of the hatred

He runs out, gasping for air, leaving the church of willing ears and locked tight minds

To fly away to meet the God he once spoke to every night

We are living in secret, waking everyday to new blockades, the people

Who peer through closet slats, wondering if we'll ever be safe in the outside world

What if there was a Narnia in these closets that led us to a land of salvation?

Who could ever imagine a world where folks like you and me could be free

A world where we would not persecute for who God, Allah, Zeus, or the stars made us

We pray and fight for that world because safety is sacred

Because sanctuary is rare in this unknowing land

We band together to push for change

Because without someone to stand up and fight for justice,

The T will always be silent