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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2267231-You-Could-Never
Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Gay/Lesbian · #2267231
I know me and what I can do based on what I’ve done. You have no idea.
I’m not a nameless fiery sin
 that you’ve been flogged to find.
 I’m not a trophy made of gold
 nor the pawn-boy for your mind.
 
 I have a mom who’s retiring soon;
 she used to work three jobs.
 She was touched as a little girl
 by my grandfather, a drunken slob.
 
 I once had a dad, of course,
 and he named his next kid “Chris”.
 Before “Rhymer”, that was my name,
 and my anger ignited with this.
 
 At the age of fifteen, I found The Christ,
 and, at seventeen, they kicked me out.
 Leading music for two years straight
 apparently wasn’t “devout”.
 
 I’ve auditioned for “Idol” two times now,
 and both times, they all sang “no”.
 I’m a writer anyway,
 and I never got on the show.
 
 I represented Sebastian county;
 for seven months, I wore two crowns.
 The coolest thing? To win third at state,
 to make my people proud.
 
 In ‘07 I sang on Broadway
 (the street, not any stage),
 and so far, given the state of my lungs,
 I’m lucky to be my age.

 I sit at night to dinner for three,
 we’ve been together for just six years now;
 You’d think it’s always “fantasy time”,
 but because of laundry, I don’t see how.
 
 And to evolve here now, on this site,
 to witness the stirrings ahead,
 you can hate all you want,
 but I’ll work here until I’m dead.
 
 You can take all of those insult books
 from your dusty and forgotten shelf.
 There’s nothing you can say to me
 that I haven’t told myself.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2267231-You-Could-Never