Pretty Boy
Even as a small boy I played the fool,
loved dressing up and going to school.
I was taught piano and acoustic guitar,
and dreamed of being a real rock star.
I was born a pretty boy with golden hair,
my manners and looks got me everywhere.
The older women adored and spoiled me,
and I took advantage of their hospitality.
My nose always bled from the bullies fists,
they didn’t like girlie boys who took a risk.
Besides two black eyes and a bloody nose
looked better on a pretty boy that posed.
The boys that admired me wouldn’t openly say,
that they liked a pretty boy to behave that way.
Deep inside, I knew I was undeniably different,
but I wasn’t a monster born with evil intent.
I couldn’t help myself standing out from the rest
by the way I spoke, stood, and dressed.
In my heart of hearts I felt nothing was wrong,
with loving the limelight, the dance, and song.
Mummy said that being a pretty boy was okay and fine,
but daddy didn’t agree and said it was way out of line,
and that boys grow into men, and do macho things;
and don’t prance about with powder puffed skins.
Well, it’s been tough, but now I’m finally a man
and I know for sure what, and who I am.
This is the way that I was born and meant to be,
a feminine man of the times; naturally.
poem by Tex T Sarnie
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
