O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain

 

The chorus rings in my living room as we sing,

My father clumsily playing the piano

And my brother and I singing off-key.

I am 8 years old, and I believe in my country.

 

For purple mountain majesties,

Above the fruited plain!

 

Now, when I raise my hand to my breast to recite

The anthem we must say every day of our lives,

My heart clenches as my hand grows near it.

I am 13 years old, and I do not feel right.

 

America, America, God shed His grace on thee

 

I still raise my hand, but it feels colder and colder

I have realized that while this country is beautiful,

It is not beautiful for all.

I am 15 years old, and it is not beautiful to me.

 

And crown thy good with brotherhood

 

My hand shakes as I recite, and I recognize now

That I am too queer for this country to love me.

I am 17 years old, and I have figured it out-

America the Beautiful does not want me.

 

From sea to shining sea!