You said it was “gay,” as if you were twelve, 

That sincerity was “gay,” parroting the loser men you mimic. 

No, dear, if anything were lame, it was you and your blase dismissal of something real. 

What is lame is your values, your affected faith, your inability to change direction. 

What is lame is whom you choose, men from a world of posturing, 

Trapped in an adult infant world of nepotistic braggartry and lack of substance. 

What is “gay,” sweetheart, is the selfishness, the pretend, your lack of depth,

The pining for a cartoon-inspired life that exists nowhere, 

The mutual using for advantage and feigned feelings for someone you don’t know.

What is lame is you … and him, 

As lame an idea as you’ve ever had, just a repeat of the same shallow lies.