“Fucking faggot!” from across the field,
a mix of boyish exuberance and snake-tongued malice;
intent is unclear, but your look conveys clarity -
“you’re not like us, and we see through you”.
Words claw their way underneath freckled, sixth-form skin,
burrowing underneath bones brittle in relative infancy
Sharp and crude, they becomes the inherent sting
of my innate otherness.
as I sit picking at skin that is still foreign but no longer fragile.
Impervious to your vitriol, I’ve subverted each word -
each wound becoming a fucking battle cry.
”I’m not like you, and I see through you.”