I was in year 13, I remember that.
When my IT teacher, by my desk he sat.
And the class was quiet, I don’t remember the causation
When he told me my life was an abomination.

The girl with the eyelashes says, “You know, in Sir’s defence,
He has his right to his opinion; you don’t need to take offense.”
And my face was red, later my skin would bleed.
He’s still a teacher now, I have him on my Facebook feed.

My hometown’s pretty in spring, there are birds in the trees,
But I don’t hear them sing, too disturbed by the memories
Of the days life hurt, of a childhood untold.
I guess I’m saying I’m sorry to that 16-year-old.

But it doesn’t have to be like this,
We will insist on change
So there isn’t another generation
Who look back at their hometowns as if they were graves.
And it hurts to be optimistic, when you keep being proved wrong;
When the voices of their bigotry is much louder than the bird song.

And I know, we deserve more than before.
Yes, I know we deserve more than before.

When I say I love my country, it’s something I mean,
But I don’t love the Empire or the monarchy.
I love the doctors and nurses that kept me alive,
On the day where their anger tried to take my life.

And I love my family, the one I chose,
And I love our community, but not just the rainbows.
I love the kids at the parades in their blue, whites and pinks,
Wearing flags like capes despite what their parents think.
I love the 60-year-old woman on the steering committee
Dedicating her life to the queers in our city.

I love the gay at the bar who compliments my shoes,
I love the person with the greyhound who does my tattoos,
I love the women at the bookshop who don’t know who I am,
I love the dads at the playground pushing double prams.

I love the way you don’t assume how I how I like to be referred,
I love the fact that you don’t question that the edges might be blurred,
I love the two trans women who started the fight,
Who are the reason I can stand here safely tonight.

I love the fact that I’m here, the fact that we survived,
The fact despite it all we still find pride.

I was in year 13, I remember that.
When my IT teacher’s vicious words were spat,
And you held my hand tightly, whispering with indignation.
There will always be IT teachers, but there will also be liberation.