Elman It is a job of rigor, that slight manhood. Melissa and I call it the hidden characteristics in a woman. Those sex drives top the list. But of course, I possess certain endowments that a male, just a plain old male, would never have(naturally). So when that time of month rolls around, you certainly wouldn’t mistake me for a male then. I always wonder how I attained the name “Elman.” There is no loop hole in the name to let female hood slide. I ponder the stereotypes now. Tomboy + Elman = not quite. Please try again. Butchness + Elman = ring a ding DING. The parental unit may wonder and say “Where did we go wrong?” My response, “Don’t make me state a cliche.” I was born gay. I was born with a body and a brain. There were outside influences that include many female friends, early belief in “cooties”, much female interaction, and feminism. Once again, lets not blame the parental unit. . .but for the hell of it, yes. It is your fault mother and absent father. I proscribe you from further parenting. As many closet friends, I’ve spent my days in the hideously cluttered, musty, and dark closet. I’ve interacted with the ghouls of society and told, not to mention endured enthralling the sob story of my closet life. As MTV utters, “You’re not alone.” But I must correct you my mainstream tv channel which has been deleted and to be retrieved again when the conceited sitcom ingrates die. I AM alone. I am a withered and plucked individual, thrown about by my so called/ non-sophisticated/fiction following/low life/impotent/virtue faulty associates. Friends do not fall into this category, fortunately. But, falling back into the cliche, being gay isn’t easy. Bravely enough, I don’t ever regret my sentiments. |
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
© Helena B; Contributors