THE STREET & THE CITY

That gleeful street, I have not gone through, that city of jubilee, I have not gone to,
I have not been up that street to see my father in all his pride and glory,
Like other sons who have long told tales of acceptance in that city of stories,
I have not walked up that street as the man my mother is to see,
As I have not grown like other boys have, into the men they are, so bright and free,

On that street, the belles chant joyful lyrics, in that city, my friends run with joyful spirits,
My sisters, my cousins, in that city of happiness and heroism they long found while I still sought,
As I have not been able to feel as they have felt, or think as they have thought,
So, I have not made my way to the childhood’s city like others have made,
To be the bigger brother other boys have been, to play the model role other men have played,

That street of romance, I have not stepped on, that city of passion, I have not stepped upon,
That strength, that sweetness and seductiveness, I have not felt within,
For I have not been touched or kissed as the rest of the world has been,
I have not loved as lovers have loved, or mated as others have mated,
And so, have never reflected the eyes of innocence in that child I have long awaited,

Indeed, up that street where the bells ring, in the city where the belles sing,
The rest of the world feels the euphoria expressed among the chanting and chiming,
Euphoria I have not expressed, not through drugs or drawing, not through writing or rhyming,
Not this distant, from the street and the city, where I will never be free,
Not so far from the dancing belles, full of the dreams and passions I will never see.