My Beautiful Friend
I have a beautiful friend who said he hated me.
Not me by name but what I represent.
He is a friend of immense humanity,
An unrivalled capacity to obliterate barriers with his belief,
An advocate for the kind of human-kind I wish for.
But when he charges forward, unrelenting in his quest,
Yelling at the ignorant,
Ripping apart the status quo,
Creating beauty with his mind and voice,
Challenging our belief of the everyday normal.
When he sets off on this path,
His single purposed righteousness clangs off my own fluid and conflicting code of ethics,
Ricocheting back and forth, denting my fragile duality.
I simultaneously agree with him and
acknowledge his blindness to the complexity standing in front of him.
I know he loves me as me,
But he hates those of my kind.
I know because he said so, to everyone,
A general loathing based on his one-sided wrath.
A part of my heart believes him justified.
The other half is curious if he knows how I hurt with his railing.
Does he care?
Is his fervent diatribe for the Great Cause more important than my insignificant feelings?
Yes. It is.
That is what I love about him.
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