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“And in the end, we were all just humans..drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.” -Scott Fitzgerald Please give feedback …
Poems
Nicholas Mercier Coulombe
Oct 2015
During my Childhood.
a New Hampshire father of twin boys named Joe taught me that friendship, love, and respect,
meant wrestling.
He was a burly man
with glasses and a salt and pepper beard
Who loved guitar hero, dunkin' doughnuts and Motorcycles.
One day joking to his adult friends I heard:
"I'm a lesbian trapped in a mans body"
Now, Joe did not mean this the way
we think of it in this community.
He was not transgendered.
probablly didn't even know they exist.
He was simply saying.
"I have an attraction to girls who will never love me, because I have a *****,
and Isn't that tragic enough for a punchline?"
Though a young boy,
I identified with that.
In middle school, the media convinced me
that gay boys were getting all the ladies.
So I needed everyone to know I was gay.
that way, they'd be my friends,
and get naked in front of me.
It worked.
However, I still could not get a girlfriend.
And I did not want a boyfriend.
because again, It was all a 10 year old me's
Con just to see girls undress.
A year or two goes by
being gay
To get a girlfriend.
when on the television:
I see Tila Tequila.
A bisexual Bachelorette reality Show.
Wait! I said to my mother.
"I CAN LIKE BOTH?"
"Sure you can! I do.
This one time, aunt spider and I"
"Mom! That's enough."
So in my living room,
Surrounded by fold-out tables
And chicken parmesisan
I pronounced myself bisexual.
I had the best of both worlds! I could watch girls undress, AND have a girlfriend.
This was not relevant however, for a while.
As I still had not developed social skills.
Enter highschool awkward bisexual boy.
I'd never actually been attracted to a man before...
But I wasn't ruling it out.
zero percent of the woman I fell for seemed to like men,
Or more accurately, me.
I was resonating closer to the
"Lesbian trapped in a mans body"
line then ever before.
I probablly asked out every female senior, every girl I grew up with.
every girl who looked at me, to go on a date.
All to be turned down.
Except one.
I entered college with a monogamous Long-term relationship raising A beautiful Nerd girl's daughter.
Seemed like I had it made.
Young parents.
Both bisexual.
Together we flushed out Every kink and curvature of what pleasured us.
Then two years later.
My grandmother died,
I lost my job of four years,
She left me,
taking our daughter with her.
Devastated, I turned to the most destructive of known vices.
Tinder.
I went on first and last date after parking lot hookup after rooftop romance with these girls.
Writing poetry all the while to document my stresses.
I was no longer "A lesbian trapped in a mans body."
If anything, I was a lesbian
Thriving! In a mans body.
This came up at a party once
We were playing rockband when I said it.
A woman spoke up:
"You're devalueing the phrase for transgendered woman who use it!
It's dissrepectfull."
When I tried to explain myself:
That it helped me rationalize
years of rejection
laugh at my own failure.
Build the foundation
for my optimistic attitude
By saying it's not me.
I just like lesbians.
it made my failures a predictable Punchline.
But I was weak.
They convinced me.
I stopped identifying as
"A lesbian thriving in a mans body."
from then on, I was a man.
Years have passed and I've given a lot of love to a lot of people.
Learned a lot about my preferences
Sexually, romantically, personally.
At the momment:
I am a:
Hetero flexible
Polyamorous
Male.
But deep down I know.
Even though I'll never say it.
Because it isn't really true.
Or maybe because it's offensive.
Or maybe because i'm scared.
I'll always be a lesbian
Thriving as a man.
a New Hampshire father of twin boys named Joe taught me that friendship, love, and respect,
meant wrestling.
He was a burly man
with glasses and a salt and pepper beard
Who loved guitar hero, dunkin' doughnuts and Motorcycles.
One day joking to his adult friends I heard:
"I'm a lesbian trapped in a mans body"
Now, Joe did not mean this the way
we think of it in this community.
He was not transgendered.
probablly didn't even know they exist.
He was simply saying.
"I have an attraction to girls who will never love me, because I have a *****,
and Isn't that tragic enough for a punchline?"
Though a young boy,
I identified with that.
In middle school, the media convinced me
that gay boys were getting all the ladies.
So I needed everyone to know I was gay.
that way, they'd be my friends,
and get naked in front of me.
It worked.
However, I still could not get a girlfriend.
And I did not want a boyfriend.
because again, It was all a 10 year old me's
Con just to see girls undress.
A year or two goes by
being gay
To get a girlfriend.
when on the television:
I see Tila Tequila.
A bisexual Bachelorette reality Show.
Wait! I said to my mother.
"I CAN LIKE BOTH?"
"Sure you can! I do.
This one time, aunt spider and I"
"Mom! That's enough."
So in my living room,
Surrounded by fold-out tables
And chicken parmesisan
I pronounced myself bisexual.
I had the best of both worlds! I could watch girls undress, AND have a girlfriend.
This was not relevant however, for a while.
As I still had not developed social skills.
Enter highschool awkward bisexual boy.
I'd never actually been attracted to a man before...
But I wasn't ruling it out.
zero percent of the woman I fell for seemed to like men,
Or more accurately, me.
I was resonating closer to the
"Lesbian trapped in a mans body"
line then ever before.
I probablly asked out every female senior, every girl I grew up with.
every girl who looked at me, to go on a date.
All to be turned down.
Except one.
I entered college with a monogamous Long-term relationship raising A beautiful Nerd girl's daughter.
Seemed like I had it made.
Young parents.
Both bisexual.
Together we flushed out Every kink and curvature of what pleasured us.
Then two years later.
My grandmother died,
I lost my job of four years,
She left me,
taking our daughter with her.
Devastated, I turned to the most destructive of known vices.
Tinder.
I went on first and last date after parking lot hookup after rooftop romance with these girls.
Writing poetry all the while to document my stresses.
I was no longer "A lesbian trapped in a mans body."
If anything, I was a lesbian
Thriving! In a mans body.
This came up at a party once
We were playing rockband when I said it.
A woman spoke up:
"You're devalueing the phrase for transgendered woman who use it!
It's dissrepectfull."
When I tried to explain myself:
That it helped me rationalize
years of rejection
laugh at my own failure.
Build the foundation
for my optimistic attitude
By saying it's not me.
I just like lesbians.
it made my failures a predictable Punchline.
But I was weak.
They convinced me.
I stopped identifying as
"A lesbian thriving in a mans body."
from then on, I was a man.
Years have passed and I've given a lot of love to a lot of people.
Learned a lot about my preferences
Sexually, romantically, personally.
At the momment:
I am a:
Hetero flexible
Polyamorous
Male.
But deep down I know.
Even though I'll never say it.
Because it isn't really true.
Or maybe because it's offensive.
Or maybe because i'm scared.
I'll always be a lesbian
Thriving as a man.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
roy orbison contra elvis
Mateuš Conrad
Sep 2018
i love women, don't get me wrong, i finally succumbed
to watching the female world cup,
since the lionesses reached the semi-finals
against u.s.a., but the man in me just kept thinking:
yeah yeah, great footie, but those beauties...
where's martin keown, i need to look at
a mugshot of a brute, i can't concentrate
on the skill without a girl that looks like
martin keown... oh god... alex morgan...
julie ertz... steph houghton...
don't get me started on the swedish team...
wimbledon has also started...
i do enjoy female tennis more than
the male variation of serve-**** tactic...
or the terminator that's serena williams...
cori "coco" gauff... wow...
i wish she would win the championship
and replicate martina hingis wimblendon 1996...
problem... she's under 16...
so she's only allowed to play 5 matches
in the tournament... and what if she wins
the 5th? that's the quarter-finals...
7 to win the tournament... the rules should be bent,
she should be able to continue...
end of an era... the dinosaurs are being chased
by the younglings...
prof. green (roger federer) still has it in him...
but... well he is a professor of tennis...
his style? his backhand? immaculate "conception"...
who played as well as he does?
roger sampras... the list is very short...
but i don't have a problem watching woman's
tennis, it's so much better than the brute strength
of the serve akin to the game played
by: ivanišević, rusedski, roddick, čilić (chy-lea-'c -
piquant, that acute c)...
n'ah... in terms of tennis?
i think the males are over-rated,
except for the prof. of grass court...
i do love women... apart from the nostalgia
for primary school playground banter with
the girls: when we still had an asexual
sense of it... before all the **** jokes,
before the greatest schism in ether of existence:
beyond the religious and in the biological realm...
o.k.: i tease... which is something a prepubescent
girl would understand:
if i was also a prepubescent boy...
times, have, changed...
i'm with ms. amber and ginger ale,
cigarettes and a decent soundtrack...
i still don't want to understand incels...
i listen to them, but then i reach a limit...
thank god i didn't lose my virginity to a *******...
but... if you have to?
isabella of grenoble...
a fine fine catch...
mind you... have you ever been
to an 18 year old's birthday party,
and it was not what you were used to,
i.e.: bal samców / cockfest?
this 18 year old's birthday party?
my friend ian tagged along for about an hour
or two... then he suddenly bailed on me...
i was the only male... among... um....
20 or so girls...
why, the, ****, are, muslims,
blowing themselves, up,
for a reward of 72, virgins?! eh?! can anyone
please please tell me?!
no brainer question(s)
(as dictated by h'american girls in venise):
the beatles or the rolling stones -
to be honest? neither.
top three songs with the bass guitar
setting the rhytm:
1. tool - forty six & two
2. the offspring - bad habit
3. róże europy - kości czerwone, kości czarne...
roy orbison or elvis? m'hahaha... royo...
a lot has happened since i attended that
18 year old's birthday party...
why are muslim men so eager to entertain
eternity with 72 virgins?
will they be keeping them virgins
or what? that would be the best way
to not move past kissing and oral ***...
once 3rd base is entered: the third eye
of transgender shiva opens up...
why did solomon give up his harem
for the monotheistic monogamy associated
with the queen of Sheba?
beyond one, what good is a harem?
if you've never been around 25 or so virgins...
you really don't know what you're talking...
or getting yourself into...
herrdildomaschinekopf...
look, i just changed the background to show
you i'm not lying:
that evening i came home: ex-haus-ted...
did i spend the past few hours in
the company of teenage girls or was i being
ripped apart by a pack of wolves / hyennas...
and you know how drunk teenage girls
behave... you're shreds... they're competing
like it's both the 100m sprint and the marathon
cooked up into one!
i really could have chosen a different path:
***** ***** all year round...
well, why didn't i, why did i become
voluntarily "celibate"?
as much as might want the company
of the opposite ***: picking up a thai surprise
bisexual in the park one day...
******* her in the garden...
walking her home while she drowned
in my jacket... she telling me i should stop
drinking... now... drinking...
i was taught to listen to rules under the arch
of pedagogy... now? i'll be as stubborn as
i am expected to be...
i don't like being told what to do,
thank you for telling me to do for the first
21 years of my life...
now? welcome to the plateau!
even the best advice is the worst advice
after a certain period of time...
do i look like a ******* puppett that will
listen to such things: oh, but if you don't
do x, you'll become homeless...
i've met some happy homeless people...
one even told me why he became homeless:
'my mother told me to never lie'...
i don't even think these jihadis know what
they're getting into,
wishing up 72 celestial virgins...
i'll take to the count of "72" valkyrie serving
me drinks than expecting me to **** them,
and the eternal library of text and music...
don't get me wrong...
receiving attention from women:
esp. those younger than you,
while they're intoxicated: it is fun...
but when it comes to the sort of
intimacy of a relationship with a women,
when she starts to read you the cosmopolitan
magazine's questionnaire as to whether
she's the perfect girlfriend /
you're the perfect boyfriend /
you're a perfect couple?
i love women outside the realm of a molten
heart... i don't like finding myself
vulnerable...
am i missing out on something?
oh i know i am...
but it's like owning a car:
great! you own a car!
"mobility"...
but you also own car insurance...
the m.o.t. payments and spare parts...
and washing the car on the weekend...
oh i'm so jealous!
what's that famous saying?
women... can't live with them,
can't live without them...
well... more like: can live without them,
but much harder to live without them
and stop wanting them...
whatever glimpses i've had of past
relationships: i sober up even if i'm drunk...
she didn't want to split the restaurant bill...
this "modern thing": feminism,
my "toxic masculinity"...
whatever, whatever...
i guess i'll have to end
on a note superstitious of a teenage girl's whim...
i'm bored, the end.
_______
.now i have a fox, without a leash, that i tend to feed everyday... keep feeding him, or her, lamb fat, cat food synthetics, and once in a while a frankfurter... and the Polacks you minded so much? only attacked ****** night0club owners... made plums and figs out of their faces... bulging and caress worthy... same ****, different cover, with the easy girls of Liverpool and Newcastle... back down in London? the story goes: she's an exchange student from New Hampshire... riddled by the madonna-***** complex... and i'm not really adamant adamant on stealing the cherry... if you've ever ****** aa ******? one, is enough... i'd sooner become ****** up by a ******* tornado... and giggle... dying with a half breath... before plummeting face down onto the hearth; watching daisies, growing, roots up!
i've had one irish migrant educate me:
you know...
there are plenty of neo-nazis
in Poland...
and? am i one of them?
liked him, a high school friend...
i'm sorry the friendship ended...
so i am?
**** me... better i brush up on
reading some Heidegger!
oh look 'ere i go...
can't stop me now...
unless befriending Pakistanis
who have kept a null of Urdu...
because you know...
if there's a culture that's integrating,
and doesn't,
have the honor, capacity,
to keep in line its origins?
no problem... not worth it...
people who do not retain their
skeleton -
their basics -
their language -
they, "magically" lose it...
half-castes... half-people...
no pride in an origin,
not upkeep with a language?
might as well call your mother a,
*******, *****!
****** by an antiques dealer!
******.
no pride in origin,
no subsequent pride in a "return"
on foreign soil...
plethora of antagonizing Islam...
good look...
i have mine,
but i hide it...
ex-girlfriend -
almost took a ride on one of those
buses in the 7/7 bombings...
what?!
guess what...
i'm an ex-pat...
i know that you wouldn't call
your similar genetics of
a "family" an ex-pat
and neither a migrant or an immigrant...
(economics comes later,
doesn't it?) -
but i'm sure the english
are loved up with Hindu grannies
and their grandchildren
taking them to the doctors to
translate symptoms...
fine by me... you do the math...
apparently i'm not speaking
English, but? ******* Urdu!
no problem...
thank god i never allowed myself
a pledge of allegiance to the people,
rather, the language they spoke...
the language is all i pledge my
allegiance to... and for...
the queen... and her people?
**** it... shooting albatrosses
off the shoreline of Cornwall...
attempting to spot
porky Siamese twins...
one does the eating,
the other does the oral ***...
what?!
i have not pledged any allegiance
to the english people...
they love their **** curry
and their Afghan foot-soldiers...
i'm doing the Pontius Pilate
washing of hands...
which is a secondary theater of
a baptism...
no...
no allegiance to the people....
but the language?
i'd give my life for it...
the people are not exactly
the main ingredient in terms
of existential coordinates -
but the language is...
on a per se basis mingling with
the appropriate focus.
to watching the female world cup,
since the lionesses reached the semi-finals
against u.s.a., but the man in me just kept thinking:
yeah yeah, great footie, but those beauties...
where's martin keown, i need to look at
a mugshot of a brute, i can't concentrate
on the skill without a girl that looks like
martin keown... oh god... alex morgan...
julie ertz... steph houghton...
don't get me started on the swedish team...
wimbledon has also started...
i do enjoy female tennis more than
the male variation of serve-**** tactic...
or the terminator that's serena williams...
cori "coco" gauff... wow...
i wish she would win the championship
and replicate martina hingis wimblendon 1996...
problem... she's under 16...
so she's only allowed to play 5 matches
in the tournament... and what if she wins
the 5th? that's the quarter-finals...
7 to win the tournament... the rules should be bent,
she should be able to continue...
end of an era... the dinosaurs are being chased
by the younglings...
prof. green (roger federer) still has it in him...
but... well he is a professor of tennis...
his style? his backhand? immaculate "conception"...
who played as well as he does?
roger sampras... the list is very short...
but i don't have a problem watching woman's
tennis, it's so much better than the brute strength
of the serve akin to the game played
by: ivanišević, rusedski, roddick, čilić (chy-lea-'c -
piquant, that acute c)...
n'ah... in terms of tennis?
i think the males are over-rated,
except for the prof. of grass court...
i do love women... apart from the nostalgia
for primary school playground banter with
the girls: when we still had an asexual
sense of it... before all the **** jokes,
before the greatest schism in ether of existence:
beyond the religious and in the biological realm...
o.k.: i tease... which is something a prepubescent
girl would understand:
if i was also a prepubescent boy...
times, have, changed...
i'm with ms. amber and ginger ale,
cigarettes and a decent soundtrack...
i still don't want to understand incels...
i listen to them, but then i reach a limit...
thank god i didn't lose my virginity to a *******...
but... if you have to?
isabella of grenoble...
a fine fine catch...
mind you... have you ever been
to an 18 year old's birthday party,
and it was not what you were used to,
i.e.: bal samców / cockfest?
this 18 year old's birthday party?
my friend ian tagged along for about an hour
or two... then he suddenly bailed on me...
i was the only male... among... um....
20 or so girls...
why, the, ****, are, muslims,
blowing themselves, up,
for a reward of 72, virgins?! eh?! can anyone
please please tell me?!
no brainer question(s)
(as dictated by h'american girls in venise):
the beatles or the rolling stones -
to be honest? neither.
top three songs with the bass guitar
setting the rhytm:
1. tool - forty six & two
2. the offspring - bad habit
3. róże europy - kości czerwone, kości czarne...
roy orbison or elvis? m'hahaha... royo...
a lot has happened since i attended that
18 year old's birthday party...
why are muslim men so eager to entertain
eternity with 72 virgins?
will they be keeping them virgins
or what? that would be the best way
to not move past kissing and oral ***...
once 3rd base is entered: the third eye
of transgender shiva opens up...
why did solomon give up his harem
for the monotheistic monogamy associated
with the queen of Sheba?
beyond one, what good is a harem?
if you've never been around 25 or so virgins...
you really don't know what you're talking...
or getting yourself into...
herrdildomaschinekopf...
look, i just changed the background to show
you i'm not lying:
that evening i came home: ex-haus-ted...
did i spend the past few hours in
the company of teenage girls or was i being
ripped apart by a pack of wolves / hyennas...
and you know how drunk teenage girls
behave... you're shreds... they're competing
like it's both the 100m sprint and the marathon
cooked up into one!
i really could have chosen a different path:
***** ***** all year round...
well, why didn't i, why did i become
voluntarily "celibate"?
as much as might want the company
of the opposite ***: picking up a thai surprise
bisexual in the park one day...
******* her in the garden...
walking her home while she drowned
in my jacket... she telling me i should stop
drinking... now... drinking...
i was taught to listen to rules under the arch
of pedagogy... now? i'll be as stubborn as
i am expected to be...
i don't like being told what to do,
thank you for telling me to do for the first
21 years of my life...
now? welcome to the plateau!
even the best advice is the worst advice
after a certain period of time...
do i look like a ******* puppett that will
listen to such things: oh, but if you don't
do x, you'll become homeless...
i've met some happy homeless people...
one even told me why he became homeless:
'my mother told me to never lie'...
i don't even think these jihadis know what
they're getting into,
wishing up 72 celestial virgins...
i'll take to the count of "72" valkyrie serving
me drinks than expecting me to **** them,
and the eternal library of text and music...
don't get me wrong...
receiving attention from women:
esp. those younger than you,
while they're intoxicated: it is fun...
but when it comes to the sort of
intimacy of a relationship with a women,
when she starts to read you the cosmopolitan
magazine's questionnaire as to whether
she's the perfect girlfriend /
you're the perfect boyfriend /
you're a perfect couple?
i love women outside the realm of a molten
heart... i don't like finding myself
vulnerable...
am i missing out on something?
oh i know i am...
but it's like owning a car:
great! you own a car!
"mobility"...
but you also own car insurance...
the m.o.t. payments and spare parts...
and washing the car on the weekend...
oh i'm so jealous!
what's that famous saying?
women... can't live with them,
can't live without them...
well... more like: can live without them,
but much harder to live without them
and stop wanting them...
whatever glimpses i've had of past
relationships: i sober up even if i'm drunk...
she didn't want to split the restaurant bill...
this "modern thing": feminism,
my "toxic masculinity"...
whatever, whatever...
i guess i'll have to end
on a note superstitious of a teenage girl's whim...
i'm bored, the end.
_______
.now i have a fox, without a leash, that i tend to feed everyday... keep feeding him, or her, lamb fat, cat food synthetics, and once in a while a frankfurter... and the Polacks you minded so much? only attacked ****** night0club owners... made plums and figs out of their faces... bulging and caress worthy... same ****, different cover, with the easy girls of Liverpool and Newcastle... back down in London? the story goes: she's an exchange student from New Hampshire... riddled by the madonna-***** complex... and i'm not really adamant adamant on stealing the cherry... if you've ever ****** aa ******? one, is enough... i'd sooner become ****** up by a ******* tornado... and giggle... dying with a half breath... before plummeting face down onto the hearth; watching daisies, growing, roots up!
i've had one irish migrant educate me:
you know...
there are plenty of neo-nazis
in Poland...
and? am i one of them?
liked him, a high school friend...
i'm sorry the friendship ended...
so i am?
**** me... better i brush up on
reading some Heidegger!
oh look 'ere i go...
can't stop me now...
unless befriending Pakistanis
who have kept a null of Urdu...
because you know...
if there's a culture that's integrating,
and doesn't,
have the honor, capacity,
to keep in line its origins?
no problem... not worth it...
people who do not retain their
skeleton -
their basics -
their language -
they, "magically" lose it...
half-castes... half-people...
no pride in an origin,
not upkeep with a language?
might as well call your mother a,
*******, *****!
****** by an antiques dealer!
******.
no pride in origin,
no subsequent pride in a "return"
on foreign soil...
plethora of antagonizing Islam...
good look...
i have mine,
but i hide it...
ex-girlfriend -
almost took a ride on one of those
buses in the 7/7 bombings...
what?!
guess what...
i'm an ex-pat...
i know that you wouldn't call
your similar genetics of
a "family" an ex-pat
and neither a migrant or an immigrant...
(economics comes later,
doesn't it?) -
but i'm sure the english
are loved up with Hindu grannies
and their grandchildren
taking them to the doctors to
translate symptoms...
fine by me... you do the math...
apparently i'm not speaking
English, but? ******* Urdu!
no problem...
thank god i never allowed myself
a pledge of allegiance to the people,
rather, the language they spoke...
the language is all i pledge my
allegiance to... and for...
the queen... and her people?
**** it... shooting albatrosses
off the shoreline of Cornwall...
attempting to spot
porky Siamese twins...
one does the eating,
the other does the oral ***...
what?!
i have not pledged any allegiance
to the english people...
they love their **** curry
and their Afghan foot-soldiers...
i'm doing the Pontius Pilate
washing of hands...
which is a secondary theater of
a baptism...
no...
no allegiance to the people....
but the language?
i'd give my life for it...
the people are not exactly
the main ingredient in terms
of existential coordinates -
but the language is...
on a per se basis mingling with
the appropriate focus.