@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; BoyFriends, Lovers, Unexpectedly; Hated, Despised, Expectedly

Since kindergarten, he was called names:

nerd, dweeb, geek, four-eyes, poodlehead (for the

thick, bushy, auburn curls he cannot straighten); then,

after adolescence commenced, fairy, faggot, queer, and

others to profane to mention in a poem like this.

Haters had persecuted him relentlessly and, a couple of

time, assaulted him leaving some mighty large bruises.

You cannot remember exactly when he became

attractive to you; perhaps the first study session when,

under the furthest library table, the one screened by

several shelves, you both slipped off your shoes and

four feet, sheathed in the softness of socks (his stripey,

yours athletic white), embraced each other like loving

couples intent on a display of affection.  You wear each

other's classrings on chains around your necks, beneath the

concealment of shirts.  Now, both naked after love

(socks retained by both, at his request), he is cuddled in

your strong arms---arms that have thrown tie-breaking,

record-setting (local) passes, amd have tossed difficult

baskets during the full court press (your high school is

small and serves a mostly rural area with sparse

residences:  several of your peers play on more than one

team through the schoolyear.  Feeling assured and

desirable, even beautiful the way you look at him (especially as

your sweetness releases and achieves splashdown on his

uncovered flesh, where it still remains warms for the

moment, he kisses and nuzzles your nipples, knowing how

very much you like that.  The coaches and administrators, and

several of your teachers, now look at you "funny," and

you expect to be dismissed from the teams and stripped of

your varsity letters.  But, for the very first time in

your seventeen years, you understand---with an adult's

clarity---that these sacrifices diminish in importance in the

presence of such powerful love.  And how long do they

really last for the heteronormal?---until graduation, and, if

collegiate, another four years at best.  But this love---now,

presently, providing such pleasure to those sensual circlets---

has brought and will keep you both together, monogamously

through your normal lifespans.  I could not disclose this to

you in real time, at that time; I was only a confused, awkward,

clunsy and different kid at the time.  Now a Poet, and this is

my Poem, so I can say whatever I please.  The haters are

not even remembered now:  the primary two will drop out

during senior year, each of them having received an

anonymous, thorough, and very athletic beating---although by

who they are either unable or unwilling to identify.  For the

moment, hold him more closely, more firmly (he is needy for

that kind of unspoken confirmation).  Love him as

eagerly as, on balmy afternoons, you walk him home, having

left your shoes in the locker; and as fiercely as you have

run the winning touchdowns, your teammates blocking the

interference as they will do now, those who know how much

you are in love, and your boyfriend no longer feels hated.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

For all those whom society's obstructive inhibitions have shamed or frightened, or even assaulted, for who they love, and what happens to be their nature to love in that way.  Do not cave to the heteronormative, if the homoromantic satisfies your natural need to love and be loved.

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