I was a *** addict,
starting at seven,
no I didn't have *** then,
but the stage was set
and developing.

Disconnected at home,
parents speaking Chinese,
with no language for love,
I found it elsewhere,
in a stash of sleeze.

Magazines,
make-out scenes,
lingerie ads,
**** scrambed on tv,

my young eyes transfixed
on what I thought was love,
on an illusion,
a fake,
a counterfeit,
hooked on intensity,
longing for intimacy,
a boy devoured by sexuality,
a boy yearning for so much more.