12/27/2013

I cried in the shower.
When nobody was around to see,
except me - looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
But it was enough to make me cry harder, cry louder,

cry softer, cry unseen and cry unheard.
Cry out of sight and cry out of mind and cry without saying a single word.
Cry for the fallen who can't get up.
Cry for the tortured whose lives have been messed up.
Cry for a family I've never heard of.
Cry for the homeless and poor who just needed a little bit more love.
Cry for my friend who recently contracted ***.
Cry for him, because I wish instead it had been me.

I sat up in bed after midnight, writing a diary entry it read,
"No happy greeting tonight."

I laid down in the empty bathtub with the shower running,
spraying hot water, only on to my side.
The rest of me, freezing cold, exposed.
I played a song in the background, called Wounded.

There were three separate streams running down my face:
water, shampoo, and are those Tears coming out of the shower faucet?

It seemed like a perfect scene for a tragic movie.
It definitely felt 'unreal' enough to be in one.
I was spitting a lot.
maybe because the bitterness of words trapped in my mouth contaminated my palate.

He might have ***, Highly Likely.
and I always viewed him as invulnerable.
We spoke on the phone and he pretended to be strong but I can sense feelings.
I guessed it after all.
Only we might know so far.
Tomorrow he finds out.
Don't worry about me.
No ****** involvement - I'm not lucky enough to get a guy like that.

I feel a fraction of his fear and pain though.
I've been an idiot and a bad friend.

So no happy greeting tonight diary.
Please excuse my sorrow and don't take pity.
No worries, I think those were just Tears coming out of the shower faucet.
Like the single Tear I wake up with each morning ever since I heard he got it.

The cuts,
Are turning white,
And pink,
And into scars.
While the scars,
They're staring to fade,
But the memories never will.

I'm strong.
I am strong.
I will not,
And can not,
Let this take me over.
No, not again.
For I fear that I am only one relapse,
Two at most,
Away from my final demise.

You should exist
What made me think
That I was worthy enough
To deserve YOUR time on earth?

I shouldn't exist
I steal too much of your freedom
Someone else could steal my thoughts
To finally convince you that you're beautiful and influential

You should exist
Because the young, we're always naïve
And no matter what we do
It will have to be good enough

You should exist
And I'm thankful
That you're
You

12/30/2013
I Met the **** Hater

Have you ever seen someone so beautiful
that you felt like crying?
Have you ever felt so utterly Disgusted by someone
that you wished they were dying?

Do you think I feel gay guts and gayness in my genes?
Or did society manufacture me - one of their gay liberal machines.
I'm not sure which is better,
Either  way you'll make me a martyr.
But I'll be your Hester Prynne baby
with my Big Gay Letter.

I cannot erase
that look on his face.
when he told me **** ****, Go Away.
I'll punch you in the face just for being Gay.

A separation of message and mind.
Hateful judgment is not hard to find.
When I stand in the shower,
or sit down on a park bench,
I'm a **** to him clear as gay.
It's like he thinks I ate some magic flower.
My girlfriends don't fare much better - to him called a bar *****.
This guy is the part of society that makes being gay scary to say.

He thinks Gays making out in public can't be allowed.
He thinks Legalized gay marriages should be disavowed.
He thinks Animal ***, *******, and ****** are because of gays.
He thinks Gay **** between two women might be more okay.
He thinks *** should **** more gay people.
He thinks Criminalizing ****** would make things more equal.
He thinks Adam's choice of Eve or Steve is all that matters.
He doesn't care about myself, or your heart's fragile rathers.

This man is the **** Hater.
Not a rare breed at all.
He could be your waiter,
or your teacher,
maybe even your sales assistant at the mall.

I Met the **** Hater,
while I made out with a guy at the bar.
The **** Hater was kinda old, yet strong and tall.
But I didn't fall
down.
or become dehumanized.
When I caught a glimpse of his face
and saw that utter look of Disgust
that I just cannot erase.
I saw it in his face - the **** Hater's
'**** Hate.'

My weapon of choice,
Tonight,
Is a pen,
So pardon me while I write.
Its not a blade,
Its not a light.
Its not smoke held from my lips,
Just words that are held before my sight.
You should be proud of me,
For what I didn't do tonight.
Because for once in my life,
I did what's right.

At one point,
I had gotten to day 23,
Another point day 35,
Then day 8,
And now I'm at day 3.
I'm counting back up,
And hoping to not be reset,
Not again.