where the boys are

I love pogo punks tubby boys fist throwing boys chubby boys blubbery boys with their shirts off dirty boys bloody boys moshing in the dirt. I love the fighting boys the dancing boys throwing their bodies, the dance they do, throwing their weight, waiting for the break, waiting for the climax and then the clash in the dirt a medieval rite of passage a gorilla rite. I like the fighting boys down in the dirt in the rain and the mud, the boys that will stomp me if I join them the chubby boys with their skin and no shame the suspender boys with steel toe boots the punk boys with masks throwing their fists growling. I wanna be down in the dirt with those boys I want them to lift me up and throw me down like the ocean waves do I want to be with the tough boys the rough boys who break their teeth and never care who rip their jeans and throwing punches in the air. I wanna get stomped on and break my bones I watch them from the sidelines most of time; they push me out I cause can’t swing with them they’re too nice—t hey won’t push me hard they take care of me like a lamb because I’m not in the pack they even protect me with their back sometimes they let me sail above their heads all their hands on me and then they place me safely down in the arms of a big burly boy he puts me down and then I run back and do it all again. I wanna be where the boys are down in the front where the speakers blare, picking up dirt sending it cloudy into the air. I wanna hear them shout and watch their bottles fly into the air. I wanna see their blood when they break, I want to see their eyes when they line up opposite each other. I love their fronting , their bumping ,their dancing at each other in organized chaos—and sometimes it becomes real. They push and shove elbows and fists heads and knees there’s no place for me. They take care that I’m not there they put me aside. I like the tall boys the fat boys the little fast ones all muscle the tubby ones who throw their weight around the tough ones with teeth missing, black teeth, the fancy ones with suspenders and hats the ones with shirts off and fat the glam ones with costumes the stupid ones with black t-shirts and the screaming ones, the shouting ones at the depth of their lungs. Yea I wanna be where the boys are down in the dirt down in the mud slinging fists, showin’ tub. Rough housing stinky boys sweating like mad I wanna be one of them—big enough fearless enough. I get pushed to the edge to the sideline they would crush me I just burst watching them, I’m bursting inside thinking oh I wanna be you I wanna go I wanna ride.

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