I love the way her hair turns in circles,
How she cuffs her pant legs to show her shoes,
The way she hikes her pants like Steve Urkle’s
How she only wears different kinds of blues.

If my parents knew they’d certainly cry.
Such disappointment for their only kin,
But if they knew they would surely ask: Why?
My religion would view me as a sin.

My mom says I am committing a crime.
My dad says I should not think about it.
My friends say they’ll support me in due time.
My therapist says this will go to ****.

My story has no home, it is a stray;
But this story has a plot twist. I’m gay.

School books never liked me, I’ve always known
but it’s not my fault! I like to have fun
and take swigs while smelling like acetone.
I suppose I’m an acquired taste, like guns?

Sometimes when I stand up too fast, I fall,
and sometimes when I cry too hard, I ball.
Doctor says water goes best with Tylenol,
but it tastes better with some alcohol.

My head feels like it’s splitting into two,
there’s no amount of medicine to help.
I’ve tried covering my mouth with some glue,
but ethanol seems to dissolve it well.

I think I shouldn’t drink this toxic brew,
but hell, “what’s one more swig going to do?”