Wednesday, September 30, 2009


He is a fatherless son.
He is the bullet of suicide prayer.
He is death fighting not to live, but so afraid of the die.
He is the little boy who wanted a Barbie but smiled when he got a baseball.
He is the receiver of his mother’s unwanted touches.
He is a dick who has used himself in acts of hate.
He life in full circle.
He hides his seeds in men’s secret places but refuses to call himself gay.
He is gay, and fears that his mother calling him faggot may be the cause
He is a husband with commitment issues.
He fits his father’s shoes so well that he is now a sonless father.
He is a beautiful mistake and doesn’t understand why that makes sense.
He is sharp notes in Beethoven 5th Symphony
He is the piano that we won’t keep in tune.
He is more than the part that make him whole.
He is love
And just wants believe that his life was not one big joke, but knows that the punch lines are only getting better with time.
He is hate
Just tired of trying to prove himself when the look in your eyes say other wise
He is alive.
Just waiting for something to die for at least then he would have the last laugh.
He is dead.
Zombie like appearance, he is too much of a coward to not get off the fence.
But today he learned how to fly.
I wish you could have seen it, his landing was beautiful.

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