Untitled (What is there to apologize for?)

What is there to apologize for?
For being who I am?
You can’t limit me with your opprobrium,
I’m not hurting anyone, not even you.
Isn’t it rather arch to tell me how to be,
And then deny me the same privilege?
Don’t pretend you are better than me.
I’m still useful to society in ways that matter.
I’m not dead yet;
That doesn’t mean I’ll be squeezing a baby out for you.
I’m wary of pretty much everything you say,
My choices won’t be governed by a committee.
Society can’t stand still.
Change is always in motion.
It comes gratis without total control—
And even then, you can only slow it down.
It can’t be contained.
History is curvy, not a straight line.
I may repulse you, but that’s your problem.
I can’t let your hate pass.
You aren’t important except that you can hurt me.
You’re a much bigger threat to me than I am to you.
Hate is sticky, like dirt—it won’t come clean.
My ideas can’t multiply as fast as yours,
But they will live longer.
Compared to your smallness, I am colossal.
Compared to your stink, my people are positively aromatic.
We aren’t going away.
In a world like this one, we’ll outlive you.
Let us be or destroy the whole world in the process.