Boys Don't Play With Dolls

 

I ought to practice subtlety,

But I revere novelty,

I deal in trades of fallacy,

Of milking forests manatees,

My face is ever solid,

You can taste that Joker apathy,

And often times I think to write not,

About my title key,

I learnt from days of old,

That little boys shouldn’t play with dolls,

They grope their little balls,

They color up their worlds,

Make their queer bells toll,

And make em stuff their faces,

With all from red to violet,

Purple cases,

Glamor vases,

Animated they are,

Shrill voices,

Goofing often,

Painting toes, yeah, dead on,

Maybe that’s irrational or maybe I was taught wrong,

Or still my fucking psyche’s maybe fed up sick with this storm,

Or maybe I’m intolerant maybe I’m a fucking nut,

Maybe stuck in orthodoxy,

Sticking up for just my bum,

I know it’s weird too, but since the days of my pa,

They told me this for sure,

Little boys don’t play with dolls,

I ought to stick to fantasy,

To tales of Huck and Tom,

Instead of all these uppity,

Attempts at poking holes,

I speak my thoughts in subtlety,

But only when alone,

You see what has become of me?

I’m still buzzed up from my chrome.