My name is Tiffany,

I am three,

My eyes are swollen,

I cannot see.

I must be stupid,

I must be bad,

What else could have made my dad so mad?

I wish I were better,

I wish I weren't ugly,

Then maybe my mommy would still want to hug me.

I can't do a wrong,

I can't speak at all or else I'm locked up all day long.

When I'm awake I'm all alone,

the house is all dark, my folks aren't at home.

When my mommy does come home, I'll try and be nice,

so maybe I'll just get one whipping tonight.

I just heard a car,

my daddy is back from Charlie's bar.

I press myself against the wall.

I try to hide from his evil eyes,

I'm so afraid now, I'm starting to cry.

He finds me weeping, calls me ugly words,

he says its my fault he suffers at work.

He slaps and hits me and yells at me more,

I finally get free and run to the door.

He's already locked it, and I start to bawl,

he takes me and throws me against the hard wall.

I fall to the floor, with my bones nearly broken,

and my daddy continues, with more bad words spoken.

"I'm sorry!", I scream, but its now much too late,

his face has been twisted into an unimaginable shape.

The hurt and the pain,

again and again.

O please God have mercy, O please let it end!

And he finally stops, and heads for the door,

while I lay there motionless, brawled on the floor.

My name is Tiffany, I am three,

tonight my daddy murdered me.

Please pass on the above poem if you are against child abuse.

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.
I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.
I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.
We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.
I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.
I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.
I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.
I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.
We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.
I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.
I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.
I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.
I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.
I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.
I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I did not have to always deal with society hating me.
I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.
I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.
I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parents he loves another male.

Re-post this if you believe homophobia is wrong. Please do your part to end it.