Little girl, I know your dad spits homophobia off his tongue like a wildfire burning and when he found your love letter with her name signed across it he cried and you cried and he told you he didn’t love you anymore, that God couldn’t love you anymore.
But you don’t understand why you feel more comfortable showering in the light shinning through the stain glass window in gods house than you feel singing next to your parents on Sunday mornings.
Tag: Poem
Poem, Poetry by Annie Wood
i do more than follow the sun
i embrace it like a returning soldier back from war
that famous photo.
the pretty, young wife, dipped backwards as her handsome solider husband kisses her.
the war is over.
he’s home. he’s safe.
WILDsound Festival 