A crush is a crush,
A kiss is a kiss,
But for some,
Its anything but bliss.

The locker room is great,
For our athletes and jocks,
But for others,
Its just a place to get mocked.

One boy blushes,
Another yells fairy,-

A mother asks, “What’s wrong?”
As Arthur comes through the door;
“Nothing,” through the tears he lies,
“Just a little sore.”

-Next week his picture,
Is front of the obituary.

Headline reads ‘Hate Crime,’
And you know the rest;
The result is unholy,
And sinful at best.

Then the funeral comes,
Which was awfully sad.
But all it did,
Was make Tommy mad.

He watched the boy come in,
Who took his lovers’ life;
Then he stands up abruptly,
And pulls out a knife.

He stands behind him,
And whispers to Ned,
“The only way is,
To let the dead bury the dead.”

Death almost always,
Happens in threes,
But the third,
Was self inflicted to please.

There was a note,
But it was to bring,
The name on the front,
Was shared with a king.

Bigamists and homophobes,
Are lining the streets,
Isn’t it time,
for some quite and peace?