Dear God,
In Your Infinite Wisdom, would it be so bad if everyone in North Carolina that voted for that stupid fucking law
Fell in love with a transexual?

Not deceitfully, a seduction revealing in the bedroom,
Let there be nothing but honesty,
“Hi, I’m Mindy: I’m a transexual,”
Let her explain it, yes, in North Carolina,
And let it not matter,
Let those who suddenly love stand awestruck in their desires,
And wrestle briefly before deciding that love is love is love.

If You hardened Pharoah’s heart couldn’t You soften theirs,
Make their concrete cardials turn to clay, gray and gooey, impressionable;
If You fell the walls of Jericho with faith and a trumpet blast,
Couldn’t You make those far flimsier walls crumble:
First their callousness, their callow, craven clinging to obscurity,
Forgetting “love thy neighbor” for “it is an abomination” even though they’re practically right on top of each other in Leviticus.

And maybe therein lie the conundrum of free-will,
You Gave us the ability to act shitty to one another and left us to our own devices:
What else could You expect? We take the more difficult route?
Treating others’ not as we’d not want to be treated?

So though anathema to me, I pray, please,
Make their choice in love dissipate,
Make them unabashed in it, steep in a skewed sexuality,
Make their eyes turn inward and see the stuck-in logs,
So that maybe they’ll see the err’ of their ways.


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