I'm overlooked for the 'cleansing process'
because my temple makes the Weather Girls look like rail-thin waifs;
It's surely inclement climates after the ball
I have no cred in the not-so-gay
non-community, politicized with
Sizeist, ageist, racist, classist bastards.
Only a carbon copy, a clone of the me
I hope to be can aspire me to see
I'm worthy of the devotion never-found
Never-landing Peter Pan flying high, unsound
ricocheting insults and brandishing
bitchiness as shadows of assuredness
poor replacements for real common ground.
Self-hate looms large
in-and-out of the closet--
the down-low boys seek
the same 'sameness' as you,
so that the fret and threat of exposure
hangs over your fuck buddy's reality too,
cementing both in clustered shame and remorse
hope he's hung like a horse.
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