Boiblue

Little boy blue,

come wait your turn.

Let them paint up expectation,

and watch your world burn.

You’ll try & tear through wrinkled skin,

emerging, shedding, ready to begin

and they’ll just pin you down to paint you in.

They scrape off chipped polish,

and smear the rouge from your lips.

They’ll cut off your locks,

shove you in khakis

& put fake leather belts on your hips.

They’ll scream boys can’t cry,

and drink from you until your body is a desert.

Your body was once an ocean,

now just a painted up salt pile,

crushed down again & again.