There are people that I do not like.

I do not like their guns.

I do not like their bossy religion.

I do not like their self righteous need to change me.

But before I can feel disgust and reduce them 

into a box of toys I do not wish to play with,

I see the strength and independence that flows

through the veins of their finger on the trigger they are prepared to pull.

I see the discipline and desire for self-improvement 

that sits, spine straight, in their churches every Sunday

where they believe and they leap into the arms of faith.

And I see their generous love coiled gently on the backs of their tongues 

that try so desperately to change me.

And I can’t help but love them back.