A fusillade of knuckles were the culprits of my now blue, black flesh.
Narrow streams of red trickle down my sprouted bottom lip,
Formerly pressed jeans are rumpled with freshly caked dirt.
Weary joints scream as my best friend helps me up, he’s still
Sobbing from my beat down. “Thanks for defending me.”
He says. “No problem.” I reply, wincing as I attempt to smile.
“No matter what people say, you should be proud of being gay.”
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