Oscar, who’s a good boy?
Who licks my face
and wins the race?
Who eats up all my chocolate
before having the latte,
and who the fuck barks for no reason,
other than it’s the fucking season?
Oh, Oscar, when will you be mine?
It seems like there’s so much time
that has to pass between now and then,
and time and time again
all I can think of is
hairy paws
and smiley jaws,
the crooked teeth of love and
oh, the smell of piss.
I am glam. I am classy. Drag queen. Straight queer.
In-your-face liar. I dress like a girl, but I’m a dude. I seem happy, but deep down inside, I’m like Joker. Can’t you see I won the Academy Award?
Look at my pony-tail and my high cheek bones. I am a sweet guy, after all, abused by my fuckin’ uncle. But what the heck?
I turned out good. I like the Brad Pitt-type. They look so calm and sweet, so innocent. I wanna pervert them, I wanna get them all dirty with chocoloate and sin.
My hair smells like sin and my buttocks moves quite sexy down the aisle, even though I’m only shopping.
I keep my firm body at the gym, and I buy only designers clothes.
Hug me, love me, teach me how to be human. Accept me as who I am, I am a man with testicles, I love other men with testicles. Don’t you do that too?!