Song of the Outsider
by Jallen Rix, © August 1987

You traveled alone 'til we walked up to you.
Good friends and acceptance are what you could use.
Like moist breezes found in the desert you never knew that we accept you.

We drench you with kindness; we tell you you're a friend.
But when your human flaws raise their head our kindness just dries up.
You choke on your breath and the wind.

If you knew we'd look down, you would not have shared.
We stare at your flaws like a sickness that's rare.
As if to smell fumes means to never breathe the air.

Compassion is never a half hearted thing.
Not everyone can completely agree.
Our words are just air if we cannot stand firm in a breeze.

Now we want to change you, to heal and to mend,
As if with a net we will influence the wind.
And now if you change it's as if you will lose and we win.

You now feel a distance; you now feel condemned.
You cannot contribute to flawless men.
The rule that we live by is: "Love the sinner. Hate the sin."

Now we seem at loss when you tell us we're mean.
Unhelpful, cold shoulders are all you'll receive.
You will not stand in a wind that is too cold to breathe.

Rejection stings.

Like bubbles that drift on a desolate breeze,
Our circle of friends have flung out of your reach.
Just what makes us so different from you that would force us to leave?

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Here's a song that was one of the first ways I described my ex-gay experience. I decided to flip the pronouns so that instead of speaking from the first-person, the listener would be, sort of, forced into my shoes. I recently dug this up and digitized it off of a cassette. It was originally recorded way back in (gulp!) 1987!