Hell

Whenever I wear my baggy pants,

my mom is always goin' on rants sayin',

"Why can't you dress

more like a girl?"

It makes me steam,

wanna stand up and scream,

"Cause I'm not

and I'll never be one!"

But where would that

put me?

HELL!

My friends always sayin',

"But you're so cute

when you're a girl."

Makes me wanna sock 'em

an ask,

"And that's what I want?

To be what you want?"

But I'm never as

cold as I could be.

Hell.

Everywhere I go,

I hear,

"she", "her", "girl",

And everytime I hear it,

it just makes me wanna hurl.

The things I should be hearing are,

"he", "him", "boy",

But everytime they say it,

they just sound so unsure.

hell...

Reviews

[Allan Eddings]

I always find myself feeling perverse for deriving pleasure from works such as this. Because the pain is so apparent that it cannot be denied and wrought as it is into something beautiful I find it utterly astounding. But then I recall that here in this work, and most certainly within the author of the piece, true beauty lies. All of life, everyone's life, is torment but here in this piece, and within the author himself, pain is transformed into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world that is something truly beautiful both in art and in life.

This piece does not apologise, it does not seek reconciliation, it is simply there - not unlike the author - and in that defiance there is such beauty.

I have always thought that artists seek not the recreation of our world but to rival it, and I find myself proved right here. Something which brings me no small measure of pleasure either - I do ever so love being right ha!

Earnestly this is now ranking amongst my favourite pieces I have read full stop. Bravo! Truly.

Sincere and awestruck regards,
A.E.