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Someone in Wyoming Loves Me For Matthew Shepard may you forever rest in peace Matthew was my true love. He waited for as long as he could but I couldn't get away. There was a 3-hour delay. I hadn't told my parents about my trip to Laramie. I'm still in the closet. I can hear you now, Girl, closets are for clothes, not gay boys. Oh how I loved you so. I wanted to wash my hair, lose a few pounds, lay off the Big Macs until I could get up the courage to tell him I get weak in the knees for Rally Burger's banana milkshakes. We were good together. We both agreed your mother would have loved me. If only she knew that my love for you was as deep as the sky. Her homemade brownies were a slice of heaven on a scratch resistant baking pan. I should have been around to walk you home that night. This wouldn't have happened if Village Inn hadn't been out of blueberry pie. A slice of pie could have saved my Matthew's life. Damn them! Should have been there to rescue you from face mashed with blood. There wouldn't have been any such thing as pistol-whipped beatings, or your body hanging, crucified on a frost bitten fence. Had I been around, none of it would have happened. There wouldn't have been hands of hatred holding signs picketing your funeral. The religious right was dressed in raincoats and three piece suits the day you were buried. They smudge thick, black bibles with your blood. They are the bastards out of Laramie. They spoke for God with forked tongues. Had I been present in your life, I wouldn't be writing this poem. I wouldn't have cried myself to sleep when you were pronounced dead, murdered after a five-day struggle to stay alive in a hospital bed. The streets of Wyoming ran red that day over the shoes of Russell Henderson and Aaron McKinney soaking their pant leg. Had I been with you at the bar, I would have told you those guys were only pretending and you should move on. but I couldn't get a plane out; I was snowed in my love. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I'm so very sorry.
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