Homophobia Is Gay Just Like Frerard
Words Will Never Hurt Me
“...Words will never hurt me,” But what he’d do to me tonight will
The three of us sat on Mikey’s bed embracing each other. Frank had accepted my drunken apology and my declaration of love. Helped him mop up his lips and kissed it better. Mikey was upset but easily consoled. The silence around us comforting. Our breaths the only audible sound along with the clock’s gentle tick-tick-tock. Broken by my mother’s arrival home from work. We walked down the stairs after all reapplying our eyeliner and removing of our tear stains. As I talked to her and Frank explained how some guy at school hit him. Mikey cleaned up the vodka bottles and cocaine, putting it in my room. Then greeting our mother in the kitchen.
Then dad waltzed in happy and smirking at himself.
“Hello, wife and sons!” his voice rang out through the house. He entered the kitchen and stopped dead when he saw Frank. “Hello, Frank right? What happen to your lip?”
“Some guy at school Donald,” Mom said, leaving to lay the table.
Frank walked up to my father. And whispered in his ear, just loud enough so me and Mikey could hear, “Don’t bullshit me you cunt,” it was thickly layer with venom. My lips twitched into a smile. Mikey still looked sad. When my father’s eyes met they were full of disgust and he pushed Frank slightly.
“Shut up you little Fag.” And the ‘little Fag simply spat in his face turned to me and said,
“Gee, you said you wanted to show a drawing in your room?” he reached out for my hand. And we left. Mikey followed.
They both sat on my bed. I refused. I couldn’t stand it, being in this room. I noticed the vodka on the desk. I stormed over and drank some. I felt it go straight to my head.
“I don’t think you should drink anymore,” Frankie said concerned. I replied harshly,
“Fuck off,” and fell to my bed. How sad is it I could only face my bed drunk? Ten minutes later we were called to dinner. The others walked and I just stayed on my bed claiming not to be hungry. I could hear my father say he was coming to get me. But instead light, dainty footsteps came. Frankie sat next to me,
“Please come to dinner. You’re Mom’s worried. You didn’t eat last night either,” he stroked my hair then assisted me up. He held my hand as we walked into the dining room. We sat down and ate. Small chat filtered through the air. Frank was very good at it, mindlessly saying things that pleased my mother. Soon it was all over and he left. Mikey went off to bed and so did I. I found my sketch book under plates and coffee cups. I drew frank, sat on the bath room floor. That image filled my mind.
“Gerard, What a lovely boyfriend you have.” My father said, I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs. “But I don’t like it.” His fist hit my ribs. He pulled me over to my bed. I felt his hands fumble with my jeans zipper. I was drunk now, so, I don’t know what he did, but I can guess. All I remember was that pain and thinking sticks and stones may break my bones, words will never hurt me, unlike my father.
The three of us sat on Mikey’s bed embracing each other. Frank had accepted my drunken apology and my declaration of love. Helped him mop up his lips and kissed it better. Mikey was upset but easily consoled. The silence around us comforting. Our breaths the only audible sound along with the clock’s gentle tick-tick-tock. Broken by my mother’s arrival home from work. We walked down the stairs after all reapplying our eyeliner and removing of our tear stains. As I talked to her and Frank explained how some guy at school hit him. Mikey cleaned up the vodka bottles and cocaine, putting it in my room. Then greeting our mother in the kitchen.
Then dad waltzed in happy and smirking at himself.
“Hello, wife and sons!” his voice rang out through the house. He entered the kitchen and stopped dead when he saw Frank. “Hello, Frank right? What happen to your lip?”
“Some guy at school Donald,” Mom said, leaving to lay the table.
Frank walked up to my father. And whispered in his ear, just loud enough so me and Mikey could hear, “Don’t bullshit me you cunt,” it was thickly layer with venom. My lips twitched into a smile. Mikey still looked sad. When my father’s eyes met they were full of disgust and he pushed Frank slightly.
“Shut up you little Fag.” And the ‘little Fag simply spat in his face turned to me and said,
“Gee, you said you wanted to show a drawing in your room?” he reached out for my hand. And we left. Mikey followed.
They both sat on my bed. I refused. I couldn’t stand it, being in this room. I noticed the vodka on the desk. I stormed over and drank some. I felt it go straight to my head.
“I don’t think you should drink anymore,” Frankie said concerned. I replied harshly,
“Fuck off,” and fell to my bed. How sad is it I could only face my bed drunk? Ten minutes later we were called to dinner. The others walked and I just stayed on my bed claiming not to be hungry. I could hear my father say he was coming to get me. But instead light, dainty footsteps came. Frankie sat next to me,
“Please come to dinner. You’re Mom’s worried. You didn’t eat last night either,” he stroked my hair then assisted me up. He held my hand as we walked into the dining room. We sat down and ate. Small chat filtered through the air. Frank was very good at it, mindlessly saying things that pleased my mother. Soon it was all over and he left. Mikey went off to bed and so did I. I found my sketch book under plates and coffee cups. I drew frank, sat on the bath room floor. That image filled my mind.
“Gerard, What a lovely boyfriend you have.” My father said, I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs. “But I don’t like it.” His fist hit my ribs. He pulled me over to my bed. I felt his hands fumble with my jeans zipper. I was drunk now, so, I don’t know what he did, but I can guess. All I remember was that pain and thinking sticks and stones may break my bones, words will never hurt me, unlike my father.