Hate

Stemmed deep inside these
Ill-minded beasts
Who threw slanted remarks
With remarkable force
Bouncing off
And collecting around
The feet of a boy
Who hadn't spoken two words
To them
Students, Teachers, Friends, Strangers
All shrouded him
With spiteful words
Which were meant to leave
Lacerations on his skin
(For their eyes to see)
And his soul
(For his ultimate pitfall)
Yet their futile attempts
Left no evidence
[I've always been convinced it was the moisturizer]
Of course
From time to time
He tripped on
A few of the thousands
Of words which mounded
Around his feet
Yet, he was resillient
Keeping to himself
But dressing louder
With his designer scarves
And his off beat boots
And, no doubt, his lipgloss.
If he was going to rise above
These misguided souls
He sure as hell
Was going to look
Fabulous
Doing it.

12/03/2006

Author's Note: I had to change the original title of the poem, "Faggot!" due to issues people had with it. I don't think Fabulous suits it. I'm still looking for another more suitable title.

Posted on 12/03/2006
Copyright © 2024 Elizabeth Seago