To Me Gay Rights Is The Last

Words Got In The Way. The Things We Felt The Hardest--like What It Was Like To Have A Boy Touch You As If You Were Made Of Light, Or What It Meant To Be The Only Person In The Room Who Wasn't Noticed--weren't Sentences; They Were Knots In The Wood Of Our Bodies, Places Where Our Blood Flowed Backward. If You Asked Me, Not That Anyone Ever Did, The Only Words Worth Saying Were I'm Sorry.

You Figured That The Only Way I'd Be Happy Is If I Did The Things You Thought Would Be Best For Me.

There Are Just As Many Stories To Be Told In The Dark Spots S There Are In The Bright Ones.

Instead Of Doing The Best Thing, We Sometimes Have To Settle For The Rightest Thing.

Normal, In Our House, Is Like A Blanket Too Short For A Bed--sometimes It Covers You Just Fine, And Other Times It Leaves You Cold And Shaking; And Worst Of All, You Never Know Which Of The Two It's Going To Be.