Homophobia Is Gay Just Like Frerard
I'm Not Okay
Motherfuckers, the little homophobic shits, the bastards, cunts. I screamed in my head. Crimson stained my knuckles, both our blood mixed with the douche it had collided with his face. It stung slightly, but other nights had caused me more pain. What was it with fucks hating us just because we’re faggots. I hate that word…
“Faggot, where have you been?” he asks.
“Out, dad, am I not allowed to go out?” I answer, I shiver at his little nickname for me.
“Faggot, remember what happened last time you went out, with out asking?” he steps closer, I smell his breath and can see the smirk light up his eyes…
“Oy, Fag, get me another beer.” He demands, his mates sit in the garden, al over for a barbeque. Mikey is in his room, neither of us care much for summer and out door events. I get the beer.
“… thanks Fag, hey, John, don’t yay think he looks a bit flamboyant and faggy?” my eyes close, I picture the vodka that waits for me in my room, “Well? Have you seen that shit he smears on his faggot-y face?”
“Yeah, you do look a bit ‘airy-fair’” is the reply.
“We’re I’m from, you’d get beat up for even thinking about wearing that shit,” Paul volunteers. The look on his face is that of joy, proably as he images killing Faggots like me……
“Dinner’s ready, you Fag,” he spits at my face and throws me to the floor. I land on my drawing of my sweet and caring Frank. My father sees it and kicks me away from it before picking it up. “Who’s this?” he asks. I don’t reply, I just look at the drawing. Frank’s eyes sparkle at me giving me courage. “Who’s this?” he asks again, this time I reply after his foot connects with my ribs.
“A guy”
“What do you mean by, a guy?”
I reply with thick sarcasm, “A guy is someone with a penis.” I start to stand up, whilst hissing at the pain in my ribs.
“Well, this ‘guy’ doesn’t look as though he has a penis. He looks like a Fag, just like you.”….
I hate that bastard, the man that is my father. I hate him, I’d kill him if I ever got the chance, I’d punch him so hard in the face and knee him in his crotch so he could never use that pathetic cock of his again…. That’s when it hit me, I’d just beat up that guy, just because he said the same word my father calls me. Damn, I’m fucked-up. I thought to myself, as Frankie hugged my frame and we sat on the floor, resting in the shade of a tree. I tried to focus ahead of me, but it was slightly blurry, I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the salt water that escaped my eyes. I felt Frank’s lips kiss my knuckles that had been wiped up by Mikey, he knelt next to us.
“I ain’t gonna let no one hurt my lil’ bro” I slightly slurred to Mikey. I put arm around Frank and squeezed hissmall fun sized body.
“Gee…. Mom and Dad have probably gone to work now; you wanna go home and get high on skittles?” Mikey asked.
I shivered at the mention of his name. “Yeah, ‘K.” suddenly remembering where I hid my vodka, draw under my bed; I had avoided the bed, so no wonder I couldn’t find it. I stood, pulling Frank with me.
“You okay Gee?” he questioned, I guess he’d never seen me violent, unless it was on a video game. He pulled his hoodie sleeve over his hand, and dried my tears with it.
“I’m not okay, but I’ll be fine, once I get my skittles,” and vodka I mentally added.
“Faggot, where have you been?” he asks.
“Out, dad, am I not allowed to go out?” I answer, I shiver at his little nickname for me.
“Faggot, remember what happened last time you went out, with out asking?” he steps closer, I smell his breath and can see the smirk light up his eyes…
“Oy, Fag, get me another beer.” He demands, his mates sit in the garden, al over for a barbeque. Mikey is in his room, neither of us care much for summer and out door events. I get the beer.
“… thanks Fag, hey, John, don’t yay think he looks a bit flamboyant and faggy?” my eyes close, I picture the vodka that waits for me in my room, “Well? Have you seen that shit he smears on his faggot-y face?”
“Yeah, you do look a bit ‘airy-fair’” is the reply.
“We’re I’m from, you’d get beat up for even thinking about wearing that shit,” Paul volunteers. The look on his face is that of joy, proably as he images killing Faggots like me……
“Dinner’s ready, you Fag,” he spits at my face and throws me to the floor. I land on my drawing of my sweet and caring Frank. My father sees it and kicks me away from it before picking it up. “Who’s this?” he asks. I don’t reply, I just look at the drawing. Frank’s eyes sparkle at me giving me courage. “Who’s this?” he asks again, this time I reply after his foot connects with my ribs.
“A guy”
“What do you mean by, a guy?”
I reply with thick sarcasm, “A guy is someone with a penis.” I start to stand up, whilst hissing at the pain in my ribs.
“Well, this ‘guy’ doesn’t look as though he has a penis. He looks like a Fag, just like you.”….
I hate that bastard, the man that is my father. I hate him, I’d kill him if I ever got the chance, I’d punch him so hard in the face and knee him in his crotch so he could never use that pathetic cock of his again…. That’s when it hit me, I’d just beat up that guy, just because he said the same word my father calls me. Damn, I’m fucked-up. I thought to myself, as Frankie hugged my frame and we sat on the floor, resting in the shade of a tree. I tried to focus ahead of me, but it was slightly blurry, I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the salt water that escaped my eyes. I felt Frank’s lips kiss my knuckles that had been wiped up by Mikey, he knelt next to us.
“I ain’t gonna let no one hurt my lil’ bro” I slightly slurred to Mikey. I put arm around Frank and squeezed hissmall fun sized body.
“Gee…. Mom and Dad have probably gone to work now; you wanna go home and get high on skittles?” Mikey asked.
I shivered at the mention of his name. “Yeah, ‘K.” suddenly remembering where I hid my vodka, draw under my bed; I had avoided the bed, so no wonder I couldn’t find it. I stood, pulling Frank with me.
“You okay Gee?” he questioned, I guess he’d never seen me violent, unless it was on a video game. He pulled his hoodie sleeve over his hand, and dried my tears with it.
“I’m not okay, but I’ll be fine, once I get my skittles,” and vodka I mentally added.