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“Be Mine”
On February 12, 2008, 15-year-old Lawrence “Larry” King
sat in his first period class at E. O. Green Junior High School.
Two days away from Valentine’s day
isn’t easy when you’re young and gay.
To whom do gay kids give their candy hearts away?
On February 12, 2008, Larry
sat in a computer lab and dreamed of graduation,
a time when gay birds fly away from danger,
away from the sharp teeth of prey’s mouth,
away from the ridicule of schools that routinely turn blind eyes
to the soul demise of gay boys.
His peers picked on Larry for being queer,
flamboyant, and girly; I am
all too familiar with Larry’s tale.
I know the blows thrown at face when
voices creep two octaves too high.
I, too, memorized come-back lines, like
“I know you are but what am I?”
I understand why Larry responded the way he did
when a fellow student made fun of him:
“Why do you care if I’m gay?
You want to be my Valentine?”
Maybe Larry’s response was half-real, half-joke.
Many of the boys I coveted in school
took pokes (so to speak) at me
for having the audacity
to be. I know
the paradox of wanting to kiss
the fist hitting my face, to lick
lips that spit the words “fairy, fag,” This
is a gay boy’s mother’s milk.
The next day, February 12, 2008,
Larry’s ill-fated, early Valentine took the shape of a gun,
and bullets in the face.
A day later, doctors declared him “brain dead,”
from gun shots to the head.
Lawrence “Larry” King, I thank you
for reminding me how lucky I am to have survived high school.
I thank you for every day you took attacks in stride,
for every smile you managed in spite of being spit on.
For three days, Larry was kept alive on life support,
so that his organs could be donated
to folks who need eyes and a heart.
How many gays need to die,
how many eyes and hearts need to be harvested,
how many bullets need to fly,
how many names called,
how many fists,
how many kicks,
how many punches,
how many tears,
how many funerals,
how many more families broken,
how many more of my kind need to donate their insides for eyes and hearts to open.
On February 12, 2008, 15-year-old Lawrence “Larry” King
sat in his first period class at E. O. Green Junior High School.
Two days away from Valentine’s day
isn’t easy when you’re young and gay.
To whom do gay kids give their candy hearts away?
On February 12, 2008, Larry
sat in a computer lab and dreamed of graduation,
a time when gay birds fly away from danger,
away from the sharp teeth of prey’s mouth,
away from the ridicule of schools that routinely turn blind eyes
to the soul demise of gay boys.
His peers picked on Larry for being queer,
flamboyant, and girly; I am
all too familiar with Larry’s tale.
I know the blows thrown at face when
voices creep two octaves too high.
I, too, memorized come-back lines, like
“I know you are but what am I?”
I understand why Larry responded the way he did
when a fellow student made fun of him:
“Why do you care if I’m gay?
You want to be my Valentine?”
Maybe Larry’s response was half-real, half-joke.
Many of the boys I coveted in school
took pokes (so to speak) at me
for having the audacity
to be. I know
the paradox of wanting to kiss
the fist hitting my face, to lick
lips that spit the words “fairy, fag,” This
is a gay boy’s mother’s milk.
The next day, February 12, 2008,
Larry’s ill-fated, early Valentine took the shape of a gun,
and bullets in the face.
A day later, doctors declared him “brain dead,”
from gun shots to the head.
Lawrence “Larry” King, I thank you
for reminding me how lucky I am to have survived high school.
I thank you for every day you took attacks in stride,
for every smile you managed in spite of being spit on.
For three days, Larry was kept alive on life support,
so that his organs could be donated
to folks who need eyes and a heart.
How many gays need to die,
how many eyes and hearts need to be harvested,
how many bullets need to fly,
how many names called,
how many fists,
how many kicks,
how many punches,
how many tears,
how many funerals,
how many more families broken,
how many more of my kind need to donate their insides for eyes and hearts to open.
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