Downlow

Let me fuck you in the arse
and tell me you’re an alpha.
Talk about your salary, the car
you bought for cash, the targets
that you smash, how much you lift:
God's gift, sure, but nothing hits that itch

like a trans bitch who doesn’t give a shit how rich
you say you are, how much your boss might tell you
you’re a star, how nice the sky looks in Dubai - you say
you visit twice a year? You're here twice-weekly,

coming back repeatedly, you'd come here more often
but I ration out your frequency, there are other people
that I need time in the week to see, people who
don’t creep around and only see me secretly,

because you can surmise what all the other guys would say,
the way the way your colleagues look at you would start to change,
what they'd say aloud, and what they'd just insinuate,
the way the office would become a more intimidating place…

Imagine that! An office full of alpha-banter-blokes,
and you no longer sure you're not the butt of all their jokes!
Well, tough shit, sunshine: that’s the life with which
I had to cope, and who's come out on top, however much
you like to boast? So, cis boy, tell me you’re an alpha
while I fuck you in the rear: we both know you keep this
downlow 'cause you’re too scared to be queer.