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The Effeminate by Chloe Poems

Taken from Adult Entertainment published by Route

Never underestimate the effeminate child
He is wise and wild beyond his years
His tears embroider a tapestry of survival
They mark the arrival of his ever evolving
Ever loving identity.
The effeminate is a firebreather
With little boy�s drag on
A water carrier carrying a pitcher
A flagon containing gallons
Of experience and reserve
A reservoir of pain
And joi de vivre.
If the effeminate is as bold as brass
Then he sure as hell will make it shine.
The effeminate embraces
And tastes the grapes of wrath
The sweetest wine,
Is always two steps ahead
While seeming to lag behind
And can suddenly scissor-kick into quickstep
The intricacies of his incisor mind
And leave you blinded and reminded.
Never underestimate the effeminate.
If he were a fish
He�d be a deep-sea anomaly
A paradoxical mix of viscousness and solidity
A shape-shifting mass of undulating validity
So with friends like this
Who needs anemones?
The effeminate exists on many levels
He�s more than at home with the angels and devils
Of his ever complex ideology
He is genius and idiot spasmodically.
The effeminate walks alone.
The effeminate in isolation
Is a potboiler of creation
But seemingly an irritation
To his friends and family.
He is a bastard child
Wandering lonely through a sea of parents
A misfit orbiting the outer sphere
But it�s the safest place to wander
It�s where you can�t hear your father or mother call you queer.
You�re just not quite right
Never your father�s son
Nor mother�s pride.
I imagine that�s why some effeminates find themselves
Contemplating or even committing suicide.
These are dark places
Without glitter
Where the bitter and unjust meet and joust for supremacy.
It is necromancy of thought
Which plagues and ages,
It is the dog-eared pages
Of a book you never wanted to read
A desire you never wanted to need
The weed you never wanted to seed.
But the effeminate is more than a gardening analogy
More than a whimsical parody
Of sitcom inaccuracy
And vulgar interpretation.
He stands outrageously somewhere
Between form and inspiration.
He can be acetylene in his intensity
Ridiculous in his propensity
As he reclaims his wildest imaginings.
The effeminate can structure the most intricate ballet
Out of his silliest dillies and dallyings
A marrying of wit and movement
Something he would consider an improvement
On the real men surrounding.
Real men
Who denied him his courage
Real men
Who had the audacity to claim he was not like them
That he was flimsy dross, candyfloss, Diana Ross
Next to their hard-nosed granite and stone.
But the effeminate knows
Some real men also find it hard
To stand alone
Overbearingly hard
Especially in public toilets.
It�s where real men have been known to understand
Even offer a helping hand
Where the hideous complexities
Of the once bullying playgrounds
Are left behind or quite simply overlooked.
Can you imagine the power this effeminate found
When he realised some real men
Just love to be fucked
In these temples of convenience
Piss smelly cathedrals
Of hush-toned obedience
And damp marbled spiral stairs
Where real men kneel
And find the answers
To their wet-knee�d, piss smelly prayers.
The effeminate is a multi-sided coin
Dodecahedron in currency
Loaded and enriched
By the many faceted importunities
Of man�s hypocrisy.
He can have you sussed, stitched up in seconds
Without fists,
He�s no need to slaughter
His weapon�s the greatest there is ...
Laughter.
It occasionally kept him safe
From the violence at school,
But be careful n�uncle
It is dangerous to assume
The effeminate a fool.
The effeminate is not degenerate
Although it has been debated
To him all reality is precious
Especially if his just happens to have been negated.
Yet this showman so often appears elated,
Hilarious,
While at the same time tiptoeing precarious
Through the fragmented, crystalline world of the introspective.
He is detective
Unravelling, cats cradling, disabling
The lies and alibis of the sub-human condition.
His position is crystal unclear
It�s what gives him his unerring vision
And makes his inaccuracies
Hit bull�s-eye
That�s why when he shines
He illuminates the room
And makes your heart beat
With more than a touch of that
Sophisticated boom boom.
Boom Boom. Boom Boom,
Boom Boom, Bang.
The aging effeminate lets his experience hang
On what he hopes is his ever youthful face
But avoiding the years is a race
Deep inside he knows even he can�t win.
So be prepared for him to cheat a little
If running that particular mile, but then,
After all he�s been through
Surely the effeminate�s allowed
Just a little denial,
And though he may be devastated
By the onslaught of wrinkles
No amount of aging could disguise
From his eyes
The multitude of twinkles
A glittering, star bursting mosaic.
So be prepared for the effeminate
To portray and say it like it is.
He knows his crazy business
His odd agenda
It�s almost a sacred knowledge
It allows the true effeminate
To transcend gender.
So remember, remember, remember
Never underestimate the effeminate child
For his eyes are wise
And wild.

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