your soul's crying, but the blood's pumping, bruises blossoming
searching for an escape, but fists got you locked against the wall and sneers, against brick and jeers
held up by the collar of the shirt your ma got you when you told her you were a boy; now it's got these crazy crimson stains that ain't ever going to come out
and the guy who's got you in his iron grip is telling you words that are fuzzy and garbled, 'cause you can't bother to listen to the shit flying outta his damn mouth
shut it, shut it you want to tell him but there's a mad lack of air to grasp so you spit in his face, watch his eyes go wild
pulse skyrockets — small victory, larger consequences
he curses you, calls you the names you've heard a thousand times before, and pummels your gut with locked fingers and red knuckles.
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