Sorrow has no hierarchy.

Suffering is not a sport.

There is no final ranking.

Tormented by acne and shyness, by stretch marks and discomfort, by baldness and insecurity, by anorexia and bulimia, by obesity and diversity, reviled for the color of our skin, our sexual orientation, our empty wallets, our physical impairments, our arguments with our elders, our inconsolable weeping, the abyss of our insignificance, the caverns of our lost, the emptiness inside us, the recurring incurable thought of ending it all, nowhere to rest, nowhere to stand, nothing to belong to.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Yes, that is how we felt.

And just like you, I remember it all.

But it no longer matters, that the world took issue whit us.

For now, it is us who shall take issue with the world.

We will no longer tolerate being named as problem.

Because in point of fact they are the problem, we are the solution.

We who have been betrayed and abandoned, rejected and misunderstood, put aside and diminished.

"There is no place for you here", they told us with their silence.

"Then where is our place ?", we implore them with our silence.

We never received that replied.

But now we know, yes.

We know our place.

Our place is here.

Our place is the Church.