Why should I hold it in? Is my heart an inn? Why should I not say when I have been hurt? Will you only learn the evil your shunning made me do when I become a member of the dreaded cults?
Why can I not cry too? Why does my pains have to be kept mute? Will you only see the pain in my perforated heart after I go home Beyond this phase, transcendence into the metaphysical zone?
I am human, Born of skin and bone Not made of rocks and stones I have a right to be sad.
So why will you tell me to hide my face, Beneath the dwellings of the bed sheet And under the railing of my own skin Why, I still wonder why?
If you can tell me your pain Maybe I can ease you by telling you the shame coming out to tell the world what boys suffer brings to my name.