I spent years feeling “outside”, would cry at the thought
That I ought to be someone else, some other
sort
Of man, who could fall for a woman, then be,
Everything England expected of me.
I searched hard, and in vain, for some
other self,
For a costume that fitted, kept me off the
shelf
And its gathering dust, and I may as well
say
That the last thing I wanted was to admit
I’m gay.
But that old life, it took every chance to
remind me,
That inside and outside weren’t living in
harmony
The scorn of one would flash-fry the other,
As I tried to fit in, be a son, friend and
brother.
Until finally, one day, a guy kissed my
lips,
And as he rested his hands on my trembling
hips
That dam of resistance was just swept away
And I finally screamed from the rooftops
“I’m gay!”
Naively, I thought “Yes! The End of my
journey!
I’ve found the holy grail of a phrase to
define me”
And yet here I am, 45, and old tears have dried
But nevertheless, I’m now mystified.
Because…
Am I a daddy? An otter? A bear?
Or maybe a fox due to silvery hair?
A top or a bottom, a ‘vers’, or a side?
What if none of the drop down menu applied?
I can’t be a twink, because others decided,
I can’t be a ‘muscle’, biceps are derided
By gym bunnies! Gyms? Somewhere I never go,
So what the hell option do I click on
below?
Where’s the one that says “Me! And
It all depends whether,
I’m feeling like cuddling, or dressing in
leather
Or maybe I want to be stroked with a
feather
Where’s that option below? “
The one that says…
“Me,
I would like to be just who I want to,
But apparently that doesn’t exist in the
menu,
And I won’t show up in searches, unless I
define
Myself as a category that isn’t quite mine”
So I turn off the screen, after scratching
my head
And I go and do something less boring
instead
I might be missing the chance of the nicest
of cocks
But I can’t help myself, I’m just
Outside the box.
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