My mother thought that unicorns were evil
the church told her so
She took our toys and placed their horns between a pair of blades;
and left a hole in every forehead
My mother thinks that who I love is evil
the church told her so
My mother thinks that who I am is evil
the church told her so
My mother thinks that I am hurting
But the church did this to me
My mother thinks she knows me
But I stay out of reach of her arms
and the scissors soaked in love
that she presses against the parts that make me who I am
and calls it healing
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