Confused and Proud - Fosca

Dear girl, you will be a boy for him tonight

Dear girl, he only wants to see the boy in you tonight

Do you still mooch there, still hung up on wedge hair?

Do you still mope there, falling asleep with wet hair?

All that you really want, is to know what it is you really want

Overweight wallflower goth, brought up on the wrong side of Lowestoft

With your crime of Being Yourself.

And your punishment of Staying Yourself

Who exactly is your type?

Where exactly is your type?

Confused and proud, but you can’t say it loud

You’re confused and proud, but you’ll brazen it out

Of the forty-eight genders why must you concern yourself with merely two?

Plumping for polarity in your life, as if that somehow means more clarity in

life

And if we held a protest demonstration, we’d all march off in different

directions

Confused and proud, but it’s scarcely allowed

You’re confused and proud, and thrown out of the crowd

I didn’t CHASE you, I more fell towards you

No, I did not CHOOSE you, I just fell towards you

And while sobriety slumbers, you and I may swap numbers

But those dutiful digits won’t be dialled.

Those dutiful digits won’t be dialled

They’re digits inevitably filed.

They’re digits to remain un-dialled

More digits that will never be dialled.

More digits just scribbled and filed

More digits that will NEVER be dialled.

More digits just written and filed