Talking with another, their breif sounds made. Filling the air with a string of dissonant music that spells disagreement.

They must be wrong, right? What they’re saying, it can’t be true. Not the whole truth at least. But, how do I tell them that? They seem to believe the song they’re singing is the truest. The whole and utter only.

Love would have it that I accept them, and the sounds they make.

But something else inside me says, 'I have to say something. Even if only to show them another way of seeing things'.

This impulse comes from an imprint. Spoken in codes to me from 'others' (mothers, brothers), systemically sending out a song that's been sung for so long.

A masculine tune that rings from the bell of Liberty, saying you are free to be - just like me. Patriarchal patriotism, we forefathers bear the overbearing sound of ‘know it all’.


I’m sorry. I did it to you.

Because, It was done to me.

This was no reason to prolong the song, And yet it left my lips.


To the friend I see: I want to accept not only what I see, But what I hear - that which is dear to you.

Otherwise, why would you sing it?

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