In the late afternoon every Saturday,
Before any screentime or play,
Mom and I crawl into a cozy nook,
And together we escape into a book.
I choose from my recent library picks,
Silly, scrappy, sappy, and scary, I like ‘em all in my mix.
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Before any screentime or play,
Mom and I crawl into a cozy nook,
And together we escape into a book.
I choose from my recent library picks,
Silly, scrappy, sappy, and scary, I like ‘em all in my mix.
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Comments
A family new to a neighborhood and trying to fit in.
Each page had silly scenarios and vibrant colors, making me want to join their fun,
Not to mention that the thought of two dads sounded more loving than none.
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But he profanely expressed that he didn’t like a boy with a boy.
Uncle Maga snatched the book away because he was concerned,
And then screamed at Mom that the book should be burned.
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To which Uncle Maga tore the book in half and said it teaches only delusion.
Uncle Maga slammed the book’s halves on the table, and they smacked,
He then pulled me outside to teach me how a real man should act.
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And then forced my fingers around the trigger, cussing all the while.
The gun was too heavy, and my fingers didn’t fit,
But he wouldn’t let me go until I learned something called “grit.”
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Beer cans at first, then my Mom’s Gnomes and flower pots were part of his recruiting.
At dinner, Uncle Maga insisted that next visit, we’ll go hunting for deer,
Because there was no way he’d let fairy books turn me queer.
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Mom was cooking, and Uncle was a-grumbling.
Uncle Maga was complaining that we’d no real church to go pray,
Meanwhile, Mom put bacon, eggs, and pancakes out on the display.
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