there stood the boy
the neighborhood hood
bags in hand and a smile as content
and that of a criminal and his last day
within the prison walls
a note was all they caught from the lad
"gone for my place in this life....see you in the next"
the mother could no longer hold her tears
and the father was a failure at holding his anger
they often sat in the den
sifting through photographs and melting into a mountain of denial
"my boy could never be a queen"
but his boy caught a bus to the nearest city
it was there he painted his face
and a beautiful princess he would be
the love of every eye that laid on him
shaved his legs and painted on ruby red lips
often how he had raided his mum's closet
in search for his own personal sugar plum fairy
his lust, his love
and thus was born
the gorgeous rebel
the queen of suburbia
away with his athletic awards
that meant nothing but gratification and satisfaction for his father dearest
all burnt in the fire that killed the boy
and spawned the revolution within the scaired adolescant...to the Queen of Suburbia