I cannot, nor do I have the ken

To unlearn the tilt of this gilded pen,

In a right-handed world, my crooked lines 

Are not examples of any whim of mine
Like a tie or a tune, I think you’ll agree
It's simply just personal to me.

 

You could not, nor should you

Diminish joy, or with whom.

You love, as the moon loves the sky,

Cradled, never once stopping to ask why,
Truth does not need to be unpeeled

There are no personality wounds to be healed

There’s more to us than mere hands and hearts

We are the sum total of all our lesser parts
We should not be treated with insignificance,

Or judged by others for an implicated difference
The intolerance shown by those slow to understand,
Is matched only by the speed of hurled abuse, backhand

 

There is no apology necessary
That’s who I am, that’s me.
I’m left-handed. It’s not a phase,
It’s not a craze.

 

You're not leading a sexual revolution

Just happily pursuing love and affection
You are gay. It’s not a phase,
It’s not a craze.

 

Would they ask a tree why it bears no fruit?
Or why a river bends wherever it suits?

You need not explain either guarded or candid
Anymore than I for being left-handed

There is no requirement for admission
Neither of us craves any other's permission

It’s just how it is, that’s right

However you love, then love, and I’ll write.