Trap

I am a trap. At least that's what they call me.

I'm a trap.

Or at least that's what they call me. 

They walk down the corridors and whisper about me; point at the unnatural red of my mouth and then let their eyes trail down the distinct lump at my throat. They shout above the noise during lunch that I ought to be behind the science block on my knees because I have the lips for it. Everyone stares. Some laugh. Most let their eyes roam my body, trying to work me out. What am I?

Girly boy. 

That's what they taunt me with. 

They throw notes at me in class. Crude drawings of me with breasts on my chest and a penis between my legs. Once or twice they've been caught, the notes confiscated and the teachers look at me with disapproving eyes. I have brought this on myself. They all think it. No one says it. But I always wait for the day when some one does. Looks at me. Opens their mouth. Tells me it's my fault.

F*g Hag.

That's what they believe I am.

They're always so cruel and public with their taunts. They think nothing of calling me a f****t in the middle of class and laughing when everyone gasps. They don't care for the other people who get caught up in their games. The ones they ask me about. Am I getting it from them? Because they look like my type. And they never listen to the objections. From me. Or them. 

Sissy.

That's what they try to prove I am.

They want me to know that I'm not strong enough to stop them. I can't escape them because they're everywhere. Pushing me into walls. Doors. Down to the floor. They need me to know that I'm powerless to stop them so that I won't try. The bruises that they leave are nothing really. They heal, fade, and the splits in my skin mend. But the taunts stay with me. They follow me home and into my dreams- nightmares.

I am Ugly.

That's how they see me. 

They laugh at the length of my hair and the thickness of my eyebrows. The red swell of my lips and the existance of my Adam's Apple. The way my waist cinches in and the flatness of my chest. The bulge in my jeans and the slimness of my thighs.

I am a trap.

Or at least that's what they call me.

I say: Beauty.