sometimes an opinion is more than youve heard a collection of beliefs, bias, and wordswords have a power, even if you don't give itthat's why people call you a bigot"emotions are opinions, chemicals, just that"I'm sorry to tell you, emotion is fact
people are threatened, harassed and murdereddisrespected and abused, just for a murmur to say that you're wrong regardless of rights because when lives are on the line, it isn't rightI know you feel you're on some grand precipice,but what about the rest of us?
when emotions get shattered and bodies are batteredit becomes more than an opinionmurder and rape, but you say that's not hate, and it makes me so irate! but more than anything? it makes me feel like nothing.it's not about putting "minorities" at warit's about a war on us, with a rising body count by our hands, or yours
my ammunition is annomination,ammunition for a gun you care more about my right to own, than what I feelbecause when your identity is just a punchline, everyone is laughing at younot with youbecause like a good joke? it never gets old, it need gets old it never gets old it never.... gets old.it leaves me breathlessand I'd hate to regret thisbut when im told it's your right to have an opinion, I wonder what right I have to feelI'm told I shouldn't take it personally, to hold my tongue because it's just free speech.because you have the right to voice, but not to be criticized
now maybe it's because I've changed, but either way I feel estranged. maybe it's because you feel you lost a sister, because I know I do
you fight for the right to say and dobut what does it matter, if you can't be you
I don't mean to deny your feelings, but mine are always invalidated and it might just be consolidated if i learn to take the slander
all I recieve is enmity, but I'm not looking to make enemies only to make you understandI'm not a woman, and I don't think I'm a manI'm sick of being what you wantbe it a joke, victim, or triflemaybe one day, I'll be on the end of a rifle of people who speak, just like you do to me
sometimes I don't think it'll be that badand to me that's what's sadbecause your ignorance supersedes and for of empathy, and my pleas for sympathy are seen as greedand I'm looked down on in pity, like there's something wrong with me
but I'm not green, maybe more blue because of all the people to abhor what I amI didn't think it'd be someone I adoremaybe on my part it's some sort of delusion people to think I'm like this out of confusion true, i cant discern for what I yearn but i wish it was sooner that I learnedto be disillusioned because it hurts especially hard when instead of being asked why am in painI'm told I shouldn't feel at alland that's when I realized that you just done care at all
I feel everytime I speak I should be rehearsing because everything I say just keeps reversingyou always say speech is a rightbut all it does is fill me with frightwhat I have to say doesn't matterand that's a matter of fact
