Faggot
The Rhapsode
by Eric Overbey
by Grace E. Quinlen
In ninth grade, they called me faggot because I cried when we read Romeo and Juliet. I called them faggot back; the politics of puberty’s prison in the room of sweaty armpits and too much cologne, where I got a surprise erection when the soccer player in tight spandex shorts stood up and sharpened his pencil. They called me disgusting for that, and why wouldn’t they? I went home and wrote an apology to the soccer player. When I finished, I read it three times, then ripped it up, tossing it and Shakespeare in the garbage. The rest of the night I popped pimples in front of the mirror and in the morning I was ready.
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