The Birth of a Straight Man, v 2.1.1: kolemath, lizziep, Wjames, Achebe, D.MYST

[Lizzie]

A STRAIGHT MAN, version 1

1
When I was younger, maybe five or six, -- I like the conversational tone. Pulls me in like a trusted confidant.
everyone teased me, called me gay.  -- I hate how this could ever be an insult.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad.

2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight, -- I like the time repetition and how that builds continuity throughout.
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my lips on,
even the dirty unknown that lay motionless --
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.

3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing. -- I'd lose "with." It doesn't add anything and is, perhaps, a bit too casual. 
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me -- I think you could use a stronger word than "made." Feels weak.
and the scars I left them.
Every night, I would give myself a wedgie -- this makes me feel that you're connecting the teasing with the wedgie.
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my extra digit to and fro -- "to and fro" feels a little cliche. I don't even think you need it.
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window. -- this ending is very memorable. Makes me cringe.

4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl -- I want to get this reference, but I don't and I don't feel like I've been given a handle to figure it out. Cultural image?
lying all Roman on the wooden seat 
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face. -- shut feels bland
And the masculine word tore through me -- are you referring to the Bible when you say "word"? If so, I'd capitalize it to make the reference clearer.
like a priest's knife,
no, like a medium's razor. -- feels connected to the ending of the previous segment. Jarring. Evocative.

5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
God revealed the rainbow. First,
from a boy who in my presence
always went like mad -- I'm not clear on what "went like mad" means, but it might be a colloquialism I'm not familiar with.
came my first kiss, given wet with eros,
received dry with philautia. I pushed him away,  -- when I looked up philautia (which is a great word, btw), it was that it was outdated and archaic. However, it is absolutely perfect here, so I'd risk the obscurity, especially since the modern tone of the poem will keep this from overtaking everything and will, perhaps, modernize it a bit.
no, punched him to the ground. Second, 
my ailing mother died, her last words:
"My bedroom smells of bacon." -- I think you need the suckling pig reference back in for this to tie in.
I did not kiss her as she lay
all bald, all dark, all swollen.

6
Only in my evening room did I weep
when I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
figuring: "Surely now I should run out the closet!" -- I like run instead of come. Avoids cliche and give more energy.
But then God's true image,
Justice, shot out of the sky
and onto my prepuce, so that I knew
my pierced eyes already were fate, -- I'm not understanding the significance of pierced eyes, unless this is a phallic reference.
my peers' lies already looked straight.


version 0.667:

1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I
had to get mad.

2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my lips on,
even the dirty unknown that lay motionless
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.

3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my extra digit to and fro
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.

4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most populat form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace -- to the virgin that roasted
as the rising sun cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face.
And from then on, I'd be obsessed.

5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
my grandmother died. Her last words:
"I smell bacon". And from then on,
I'd be obsessed.

6
When I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
I figured it was time to come
out of the closet
and into the evening room.
"What am I afraid of?" I thought. "Have I not
already stared death straight in the eye?"
But then I found God's true image,
Justice, carved into the ridges and furrows
of my prepuce, and I knew
that to lie to myself was to admit defeat.

Version 0:

1
When I was younger, maybe five or six,
everyone teased me, called me gay.
I didn't even understand
what sex meant, playing with my penis
as if it were just another finger.
I knew only that I
was insulted, that I 
had to get mad.

2
When I was younger, maybe seven or eight,
my favorite past time was kissing boys,
girls, anyone I could get my hands on,
even the dirty unknown that lied motionless
outside our school. My second favorite
was biting the arms of all the boys that mocked,
pulling the hair of all the girls that laughed.

3
When I was younger, maybe nine or ten,
my peers stopped with the teasing.
They almost became my friends,
although I could never forget
the hell they made for me
and the scars I left them.
Every night, to both celebrate my victory
and atone,
I would give myself a wedgie
with the cord that closed and opened
my room's Venetian blinds,
would rub my thirteenth digit to and fro
on the tearing cloth
while staring straight in the eye my reflection
on the window.

4
When I was younger, maybe eleven or twelve,
I found God in his most popular form,
Love. The Sallman Head, the Image of Edessa:
nothing compares to the little red-haired girl
I saw lying all Roman on the wooden seat
by the fireplace. The dream
ended like this: as the rising sun
cast its burning rays
on my shut eyes and smiling face,
she roasted like a suckling pig.
And from then on, I'd be obsessed.

5
When I was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen,
my grandmother died. Her last words:
"I smell bacon". And from then on,
I'd be obsessed.

6
When I was younger, maybe fifteen or sixteen,
I figured it was time to come
out of the closet
and into the evening room.
"What am I afraid of?" I thought. "Have I not
already stared death straight in the eye?"
But then I found God's true image,
Justice, carved into the ridges and furrows
of my prepuce, and I knew
that to lie to myself was to admit defeat.

I feel like there was a lot in here that I didn't get, so please bear with my ignorance. Just calling things as I see them, or don't. I am wanting another bit at the end that includes some self acceptance and moving past the lies. And, sorry to be contrary, I liked the original title.

I think it's a wonderful poem.

Hope it helps some,

lizziep