I do not wear the same skin as you
but our struggles, they are similar.
You see, while you are outcast
for the way you look, the color of your
outer shell; I am turned away for whom I love.
I may not have laws telling me
where I can and cannot sit, where I
am welcome, and where I am not.
But I might as well.
When I hold her hand in public I
cannot help but feel the stares
people act as if we don’t belong here,
don’t deserve the warmth of a touch.
And I know that our battles aren't the same
and our crosses to bear are as different
as night and day,
but I assure you
I go to bed each night, scared of the next day.
I can’t walk outside without the
fear of names, of stares,
of hate breathing down my neck,
fear crawling down my spine.
I do not wear the same skin as you
but I know how much hurt comes
from being different
and I will march with you to
see that better days will come.
Here, take my hand.