Passive aggressive, a little possessive, but you’re too cute, too sweet
and everyone treats you so mean.
So when my dear friend accused you of r@%e, I had no choice but to scoff and wave the accusations away,
because what mean thing could a boy with a baby face, chipmunk cheeks, and a knee brace ever do or say?
You’re the kind that doesn’t like the way some socks feel on his feet. The kind that starts choking if he eats too much meat. The kind where awkwardness is a tool in your box of charms. The kind where the thickness of your legs matches the thickness of your arms.
I think you’re submissive sexually– and I know you have good intentions.
So if anyone’s on your case, I can blame it on your depression, because you’re blameless, innocent, beautiful, faultless, brilliant. Deities silence because in your aura they feel ignorant. Some cute old boy still too cute to be a man, with a mind, heart, and intentions that match.
So I, and the world, wave it away, wave it away.