Sticks and stones...

Fag
I knew it when I wanted to try on that beaded  necklace.  The coral and brass strand that Mom wore with those orange hostess pajamas.

Fag
Why did Ernie and Bert interest me almost as much as Bob, the handsome non-muppet with the engaging smile and sweet singing voice?

Fag
A Barbie with a G.I. Joe head hanging out in the Malibu town home while a G.I. Joe with long flowing locks explored the backyard hedges in army fatigues.

Fag
Sitting on the toilet in my parent's bathroom watching my mother's nightly ritual of covering her face with Noxzema.  Time that was ours.

Fag
A snapshot of my 16th birthday with my mouth agape and my mask slipped off by the thrill and terror of ten friends hiding in the den.

Fag
I'm helping Mom distribute parting gifts of bubbles to her pre-school students and I so very much want to keep one for myself.

Fag
I have no idea how to hold this hammer, saw that 2x4 by hand, or apply wood glue to the joint.

Fag
Better students are sitting at their desks working on their assignments, said Mr. V.  Note to self, don't be like him.  Everyone knows what he is.

Fag
Manny wants to take me surfing in Santa Cruz.  Charlie is going too.  I'm torn.  If I hang out with Manny will I be guilty by association?  If I hang out with Charlie will I get to smell his hair?

Fag
I'm trying to write the pain away.  De-fang the word.  Repeat it enough so that it becomes nothing more than a syllable.

Fag
The NPR reporter sticks a microphone in a homophobe's face and let's her repeat the word three, four, maybe five times.  Balanced reporting?  Exposing the evil of the opposition? Doesn't really matter.

Fag
The word still stings.  Cuts me once, twice, three times, then twice more.  I'm bruised.  I'm bleeding.  I'm angry.  I'm enraged.

Fag
I'm weak.  I'm strong.  I'm fighting back.  I'm fighting myself.  I'm brought to my knees.  I'm standing tall.  I'm a

Fag.