Girl, Your Not A Boy Poem by James McLain

I only hate him, hand in his,
when we stand in the mirror
naked, invisibile, macho.
In his lame, boys, fuzzy, peachy.
She looks at you, he pokes on me.
Into my bony ribs, your my nothings
but a big round pink, buff to do there.
Saintly so fearlessly, he stutters to me,
tear of fury, trickles as she scolds him.
He stands there in all his blushes.
Woods look curly, leafy like to David's
new born helmet, pales, as it is it cries.
The turtle hides, your handsome, I am
thinking away, from his eyes, again.
Yes the best mine gave him away, again...