When I was young,
Had I heard your voice,
I'd have said,
You were a queer.

Someone said,
That in the Bible,
Those like you were bad.
Those like me were good.

You were gross,
And I was healthy,
You were sinning,
And I was worthy.

But, in grade 9 or 10
A pair of legs had caught my eye
Legs, those of another man
Foot, ankle, knee and thigh

No, oh, no,
I wouldn't be
A sinner liking
Other guys

I was good and they were bad!
There's no way I'd be a fag!

But then I saw those legs again,
And I had my first crush,
But it wasn't on a girl,
It was a guy who made me blush.

This wasn't right!
This was wrong!

I needed help,
But I sat alone,
Because I feared
I'd be disowned.

My face was red
And sodden with tears,
God had been the artisan
Who crafted all of my worst fears.

I read that book,
While I was alone,
The one that said,
That I was good,
And you were not.

In the end,
I have concluded,
You had been right,
And I had been wrong.

I no longer hate those like you.
I cannot hate those like me.
It makes it difficult to cope.
It drained me of so much hope.

Now, instead, I love you so much,
And I'm really sorry for what I thought,
While I was a child,
Judging out loud,
People who I didn't know,
People who I couldn't figure out.