Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Marriage is what happens to OTHER people

Being gay for me as always been depressing. To grow up never imagining a real relationship as one is surrounded by constant reminders that your very attractions are wrong. The dating scene seems to only be established online, and they refuse to see you as more than a sexual object; the protocols of top or bottom and "what do you get into?" The high standards and the low expectations. The feelings of loneliness as all of your heterosexual friends find love and develop families. You enter adulthood in a brave new world of legalized gay marriage but you can't help but be cynical about the entire thing. Afterall, where would you ever meet this dream lover? Most will never approach you and you'd never approach them. The good ones seem to already be in relationships but then again, you had a threesome with that couple last week. What hope is there left if even the couples seem to be at the clubs? Does anyone in the land of promiscuity want an actual committed relationship? Being gay is like being invisible, or at least that's my story. He could be as charming as he wants to be, but the Prince never seems to show up. Love is a word I've often only used in reference to my parents, I've never thought it could take on another meaning. I never envisioned holding hands and worrying over wedding plans. It's not that I don't want it, it's just that it doesn't seem possible. I've been told that guys like me aren't relationship material. You're too quirky, you have nothing going for yourself, who could take you seriously? I've tried to wear masks. Tried to simmer myself down but my water always boils. I'm colorful and I embrace myself. Maybe what we need to do is marry ourselves first. Waiting for a galloping horse has only brought me to wasted months with guys who say sweet things in the bedroom but can barely look me in the eye in public. The rammifications of being me. I dream of a honeymoon in Hawaii complete with a guy who likes every quirky aspect of the craziness that is my mind. But it's just a dream. Romance doesn't happen on this side of the tracks. For now, I cynically attend other people's weddings, take a shot of vodka and write my poetry.

Sunday, November 4, 2012


Mister Smart phone,
Mister the games on,
I haven't seen much of you lately
Just a bunch of bullshit
From your Qwerty.
The fact is
you're not even worthy
But slowly, surely
I'm hung up on your jury,
choking on the verdict...
Good dick just isn't worth it.
Passion fruit kisses
But a lot of your hoes
can bare witness.
Your best friend
Is really your mistress
You moaned his name
in six positions on the mattress.
Mumbling Chris when you hit this
I guess first loves
never die
Your tongue
so good to my insides
I can't get off of this ride.

These days you hardly come by
Routines of catching you in lies.
Hanging with your boys
no surprise,
I know that queen
will keep you buzzing
'round her bee hive.
My cop friend knows
How fast you drive...
Pulled you over near her exit
on the seventy five.
I'm looking too good
To be an on-call whore
condom wrapper
glowing on your dirty ass floor...
Who'd you use that on?
Was it Grinder slutty Sean?
Nigga you're a joke
Facebooking for your pokes.
I'm rocking my own boat
Since you aint even here to stroke.
you always look good
So hood
But you're not in this
like I thought you would.
Your job, your games, your boys
Your hoe-wood fame
But my gullibility is the one to blame.
You were the only to console me
The only one to hold me down
but all the sleeping around
The bitches in the pound
Has me searching for my heart
In lovers lost and found.
Love is not enough
When trust is so tough
Our history is
keeping me in handcuffs.
I'm hoarding all of your stuff
Love is not enough...


No one has ever emerged into a doorway quite like him. With a box in his hands he arrived in your dorm room, calling himself your roomate. As time went on, through restless nights, lying awake, listening to him toss and turn, you grew fond of the trivial things. The way he would chew on one side of his mouth; the comical way his eyebrows would lift as he told a funny story and the relentless charm that effortlessly shined through his smile. Heterosexual was the protocol that had been established. Frat house parties and tales of women littered your wishful thinking. And there were those moments, when all seemed possible. Candy for your delusions. He arrived in the room damp, wrapped in a towel as he prepared for bed. You, at your desk, pretending to read a biology textbook as you scanned his anatomy with your peripheral vision. He was a vision. A case of diamonds on a mountain top you couldn't climb to reach. You'd notice how he'd stroke his hair back in Sociology, you even knew the scent of his after shave. It wasn't until graduation, that a right foot met a left one. A knee caressed another knee. As tassel emancipated itself into the air, you were caught up in his stare. The high voltage appeared to be in vain, Soon ushered away by a life which would arrest you. You were obsessed with his ghost which haunted your fantasies, But he was a geographical impossibility. As you lay with nameless bodies who'd be gone by morning, an ocean of regrets inundated your mind. The void could never fill, no matter how many gay clubs you'd frequent, or how many photos you'd masturbate to. Missed opportunities seem more obvious now. A quick search on Facebook even slaps you in the face as you become stunned at your own idiocy. Yet now, staring at the friend request button, you don't know what to say to him if you were to send him a message. You hit the button and five minutes later, accepted. Ten minutes later, a message appears. "I've always thought of you. Glad we have reconnected," He writes. The simplicity is surprisingly overwhelming. With each day, the messages grow more profound and numbers are exchanged. The day arrives when you've agreed to reunite. He flies to Philadelphia, where you now work as a realtor. It's a warm, early October day. You stand by the Liberty Bell observing every human that comes your way. You wonder if he'll look the same. Every gust of wind sends tingles down your spine. Every new face that arrives makes your fingers shake even more. But as those familiar hazel eyes appear before you, as he smiles right into you, sending shockwaves of charm with each dimple that forms, your body relaxes. You feel like a lost puppy that is finally home. As a strand of his hair blows in the wind, he reaches up and strokes it back like he used to do in Sociology. He walks up to you, bold and beautiful as his image blurs the surrounding scenery. He reaches for your hand. His olive skin against your carmel hand, interlocked. No words need to be said. He's got the eyebrows that will make you both crack up laughing. One facial expression, an inside joke about how you looked when you tasted a concoction at a party. Finally, you both laugh again. Dimples again. In front of that bell, you boldly hold hands in a way fraternity life wouldn't allow you to. There's that scent of aftershave again. No more mask. Liberty at last.