I know why the caged Boys sing.
Closeted, they do their thing.
Deep, below the belt they reach,
Pulling out a high-pitched screech.
I know why the caged Boys sing.
Some come off as hateful, hard;
Eyes as flat as playing cards.
Flitting, fidgeting like a finch,
Angry over their tiny inch.
I know why the caged Boys sing.
Face, once firm, starts to sag;
Eyes, once bright, begin to bag.
Each day is a troubled task,
Holding up that pasty mask.
I know why the caged Boy sings.
Power pulls them by their hairs,
Giving rise, uncorking scares.
What if impotency is discovered?
Flaccidity itself gets uncovered?
I know why the caged Boy sings.
Hiding, burying many things,
Fears beat loud, like Raven wings.
Scream, shout, like some mad King,
Hate thyself, numb the sting.
I know why the caged Boy sings.