I stand here on a street corner,
daisy dukes and fish nets,
my favorite Metallica crop top
floating up on moonlit skin.
Monster truck inching close,
breath pacing through the city streets,
I walk to the edge of his dark lair
to bite any hesitation.
With curt words and close heads
I smell the whiskey in his breathe.
Pulling into the alley's grip,
I let him lead and grit my teeth.
"Shhhh, I won't get busted again."
the whiskey whispers against my ear,
"Don't make a peep."
Then I'm not sure if it's man or whiskey
who turns me around in callused hands.
He spits first,
entering with a grunt,
and my hands slide down the window with each ******
5 minutes.
I horn honks in the distance, long and mad,
as whiskey man unloads on my back,
along with his long, satisfied growl.
That's it, with a reluctant 20 bucks,
and I'm back biting the wind.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
My mind is blank,
where I should be tumbling
over everyone who gives me love
and ****
Over every mother who informed me
about the "real world".
Over every leader who told me the "real words".
Even my own self,
queen of no ********
even I've been washed away.
Even I've been
saved for a better day.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
His muscles are tightened
and my intestines twist in my stomach juice.
His eyes are glued to the glowing screen,
but mine trace the curves of his back, shoulders, and neck.
I close my eyes and feel his touch,
his soft caress and tender ******
My hands and fingers through his hair,
his chocolate skin and everywhere.
I open my eyes to the TV's glare.
Light shines back across him,
an arms length away from my burning.
I bite my tongue and hold my breath,
only breathing again at the fantasy
of someone loving me.
Saving me.
He's right there and doesn't know
how he makes me cry inside,
every time he moves an inch, laughs out loud, or-
god forbid he turns around.
He does just this, an looks at me,
smiles that smile and pats my knee.
As if he feels for me.
Won't you feel me please?
At home I lie in the dark,
trying to smell part of him on my clothes.
Nothing.
I stare at the ceiling,
my mind too full to let me close my eyes.
I'm only able to smile,
though I know I will later cry.
His image ingrained for another sleepless night.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
Every time I see a beautiful girl
that I want to kiss,
I feel less self-conscious my self,
because every time I am reminded
of how **** us women are.
Yes, especially in our too-big
***** t-shirts
and bed-head hair,
we absolutely ******* gorgeous.
Hey-
everybody listen,
I think I have just discovered
the one advantage
of being gay.
Oh yeah,
for the win.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 12:10 AM UTC
Yesterday was like spilt milk. Each time I folded the shirt it became imperfect in a different way, mocking my calm face and salad fingers. My current occupation is crying in an empty bathtub, imaging floating in a space where my brain can be separate from my body. Where knives are for vegetables.
Yesterday was yet another existential brain **** Mother stood in the shadow doorway shaking necks from afar and my teeth retreated into their gums with each mental earthquake, nailing deeper the words I try not to think about, softening my surface.
Yesterday I decided to eat my tongue and forget thoughts as soon as they come.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
May you feel the hunger inside
subside by the tip of my tongue.
May your every fantasy and more
be born through the touch of my hands.
May you cry out into the night
that you might see yourself through my eyes.
May these moments be nothing more than love
when the morning shows a pillow gone cold beside you.
Amen.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
One step in the room,
my eyes latch onto your own,
never letting go.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
Your *** is so fine,
Sweet and aged like cherry wine,
Please let it be mine.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
I noticed how freaked out they got
when that couple kissed in sight
or smiled just a little too wide
into each others’ adoring eyes
and it felt like compressed air
too many soggy molecules
packed into fleeting cold stares
because god forbid you be happy
and *you don’t get to have love
when I can barely sleep at night
because my silly ******* job
keeps me from what I really want
and I am always the depressed wolf
who gave up on finding meaning
from this **** storm we call life
so please, “get a ******* room”
you stupid storybook happy people
I don’t want you to remind me
that I used to want to care
or that my thoughts used to have
resemblance of a child’s wish list
just get out of our deteriorating lives
don’t ******* come here again
with your stupid storybook ****
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
**** you, this is me.
I'm not supposed to be you.
YOU'RE already you.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC