I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Yesterday:
I was a boy;
Afraid of the world and wonder,
Yet captivated by all it's precious plunder.

Today:
I am growing;
Changing and shifting as the sands,
Of the dry barren lands
Unexplored.

Tomorrow:
I will be a man;
Held in my roots steadfast,
With a legacy built to last,
And last.

I need to escape the past,
But how do I escape that which has made me,
That which has developed me,
As a film,
Pressed with the stains of a forgotten time
But a remembered pain.

How do I forget the past I created and in turn used
To create me and my knowledge,
The power I use to circumnavigate
the treacherous waters of the present,
A present so wilted by my distaste and displeasure
One simply cannot fall away
And out of the depression the past creates.

How can something like the past, in the past
Be so current,
Ruling the present and so Forward
As to rule the future.

How can I escape the past,
The past which built me?
Is to ask how can the house escape its builder
When without it, I would suffer no grandeur
And experience no appreciation.

The past has built me,
Moulded me,
The faint moss washing over.

My past has led me to this present,
The present I am so grateful for,
How could I wish it undone?

I am not my past...
But I am my Past's creation,

Alone
                                                           stuck alone.
                                                           These feelings:
                                                           Terrified.

Who am I?
What have I become?
Where did I go?

Questions, left unanswered
Or rather unable to answer.

I am me,
But so wrapped in the idea of my sexuality,
my identity means nothing
"that ***"
that's all they see me as.
But I am more!
I demand to be seen as more!

But until I look into the mirror and say
"That's me"
they have every right.

I AM that ***
I AM that queer
that lost soul.
but
I am me
and that's all I want to be.