PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Yes, I can still remember a time when

I was not aware of my given nature,

and lacked words to become its nomenclature.

But I felt the attraction to males, to men,

and I embraced Homosexuality

despite the pinheads of society

who believed such Love was perversity.

I cannot now say what calendars and clocks

said:  except in Autumn, nineteen seventy---

fifth period English in seventh grade:

and that beautiful, long-haired blonde, Antony,

clad in a polo shirt, bell bottom jeans,

and (to me, provocative) midnight blue socks

from which he had gladly (or so his smile

suggested) removed his confining shoes.

And I knew, that day, I was, truly, queer:

a label that we were taught to fear,

a word of which to be really afraid;

a term used by haters and thugs to revile.

But now, in my waning old age, I sneer

at them and their petty verbal abuse.

Now that word, converted, no longer demeans

this aspect that thrived in my given soul,

that exults in being Homosexual,

though the concerted efforts to dishearten

my obvious lack of conformity

began as early as kindergarten.