On Tolerance

My tolerance wears Ugg boots, yet streaks blue low-lights throughout ashen hair. It parades itself in worn jeans, Cowboys t-shirts, and Miami Dolphins wind pants. My tolerance has dread locks, chuck taylors and wire rimmed glasses, with jelled spikes on its crown, a hood hiding its forlorn countenance. My tolerance wears Juicy Couture sweat pants, Rave bangles, and holiday themed rubber bands on its braces. It seats itself at the front of every class and at the back. It stomps down the hall in a rage and wheels around in a motorized chair. My tolerance is black, yellow, brown, red, and pasty...it's brown-eyed, blue-eyed, feminine and tom-boyish...rugged and artsy. My tolerance weaves a tapestry of all that is dear to my broken heart when reddened eyes and swollen noses peer into my face, searching for, longing for, begging for an inkling of hope, a glimmer of sunshine to cast away despondency. My tolerance is a warrior in fatigues, bursting through the ranks to regale the front lines and march forward to peace and redemption, and it is searching for troops to march forward and battle the foes-closed mindedness, judgment, and hate. Which side are you on?