I Think Men Who Can Cry Are

I Don't Write With An Outline. I Don't Often Know What I'm Going To Do As I'm Writing. And I Do Everything By Feel And By Instinct.

I Stand, Walk Over To Him, Sit Down On His Bed, Put My Arms Around Him, Hug Him. He Hugs Me Back Strong And I Can Feel The Shame Coming Through His Arms. I Am A Criminal And He Is A Judge And I Am White And He Is Black, But At This Moment None Of That Matters. He Is A Man Who Needs A Friends And I Can Be His Friend.

She Is Sitting On Frozen Ground Wrapped In A Blanket, Her Pale Skin Shining. She Smiles And She Stands And Without Words, She Steps Forward, Opens The Blanket, Envelops Me Within It And Within Her And Within Myself. She Kisses My Cheek, The One Not Torn, She Wraps Me And She Holds Me. Her Arms Are Thin But Strong. She Whispers In My Ear, "i'm Glad You're Here.

Love Is Love. It Doesn't Matter How Or Who You Love. I Don't Believe The Messiah Would Condemn Gay Men And Women.

More Than Anything, All I Have Ever Wanted Is To Be Close To Someone. More Than Anything, All I Have Ever Wanted Is To Feel As If I Wasn't Alone.