Yeah, I wrote him a poem to ask him out. What about it? A big, tough guy like me can’t ask out another big, tough guy in the world’s most romantic form of literature? Alright, fair. I don’t suspect I give off poem-patty vibes. That’s the way I like it. You see, he and I don’t exactly come from areas that read poetry. We don’t have a book club. We have a fight club. That’s only on Tuesdays, though. Don’t ask why it’s a Tuesday – wouldn’t be able to tell ‘ya. Anyway. Poetry came from my dad – he was really big into that shit. Was. He’s not here anymore. The dude ran off with the forest nymphs and decided to make a writing colony in the woods, I don’t know. My dude isn’t out about his sexuality to the public yet. That’s why I don’t give the name. It’s his name to give and my job to stay with him through it. We’ve been through enough together though, so it’s not like a relationship would break us apart. Besides, I don't give up. My daddy may have raised a writer, but my momma didn't raise a bitch. Once dad left, she made sure that I learned one thing. People aren't shit, no matter the blood you've shared. People don't fight for you. You fight for yourself. Fight dirty while you're at it, too. Good for me, dirt don't mean a damn thing. The rusted hideout that we would go to as little boys got me used to grime.
- dad got him into literature, left. - mom taught him to fight for himself once dad left - fight dirty, talk sweet - in a relationship w one of the boys he’s been in a gang with - asked him out via poem - doesn’t really think about repercussions of actions
idk where else to take him rn so i’m turning into a CB xx