Indiana feels foreign
you know, like we've never lived here before.
And the hearts of these men weigh on my own.
We wonder how we love them more than their birthrights,
their wrongs, too many to count.
Crying only when no one is looking.
Made in his imagine,
and we'll fuck it up always.
Made in his likeness,
and we'll kick the unconditional to the curb.
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