By Ian Hochberg
In the muted class time halls of Pikesville High,
A weather vane friend whispered to me
“Everyone thinks you’re a gay narc”
with the quiet discretion of a cold war double agent.
This sudden floor dropped out from under me news
Was the last thing a sensitive, frightened, quaking young teen and artist needed to hear,
A poison pen message that scribed the best reason to end it all.
Was I, am I, gay? To deny this wildfire rumor would feed me into the devouring mouths of my accusers.
Let them think what they will.
I am one of many men who are artists, gay or straight, whom the world requires to interpret life in all it’s high and low lights through music, images and words.
To provide distraction for those who once pointed blindsided fingers at us to make themselves feel bigger and better by holding our heads under water in shame and unjust disgrace.
We are here and all of you need us to turn a gray world into brilliant rainbows.