31/12/2022

It’s the last day of the year, and I’ve had one extra depressive episode
because a 21 year old noped out, apparently I’m demiromantic
and have never had a crush
need a strong connection, when it’s there – it’s nothing
to reckon with, had I known
I’d have put more space between us, taken it slower
rather than convincing myself I have control, as it slips

I’m leaving another lover, wretched with stench
I look at their face in old pictures, becoming
afraid at their void expression, beard
they refuse to trim for me
so I daydream and I know
like, I know now, with therapy that

there is no magical himbo to save me,
no delusions about that, no boo, no more
but I also know I deserve some ******* comfort
after the hell, oh the hell
I can’t broach, if I **** it will burst
like a yolk, I’ll be dead by morning, oh and

he’s so beautiful
his eyes on me, his cautious fingers, fear and shudders
makes me feel like my best was not just good enough
my best was fascinating.
I want to tell him about my songs, mixing in studio 1
I wanna duet, and melt,
I want him on his knees at random words, I want
that worship, wanna feel
his piercing on my
everything,
want to give that worship
not just in a word document,
so I daydream, I get to.
I ******* get to if I need it, daydream about
whichever thing will never happen if I need it.

I will not be shamed for surviving
I will not be blinded to an oasis for the chance
it’s a mirage, I need to
get from place to place, boo
What shall I do as I heal? Drink? Drugs? ******* cigarettes?
did you know the internet says I’ll die at 67?
Little more than half now
my life is not shortened by zoning out -
If I want a muse I will have a ******* muse, and he can think
I’m crazy along with the rest of them,
****
if
I
care,  
I want him to come here.
                                    I want to ask him questions, reasonable questions
because I know I would:
                                                          ­             is this an impulsive decision?
have you broken up?
                                                                ­                               how long ago?
are you in therapy?
                                            I am **** demisexual,
                                                  even in my mind,
                                              especially in my mind
Do       you      want      me      or      do       you       want      polyamory?
Because I can be anyone, and I have already been
                                                         an experiment for some guy, ‘fore he  
                                                            gets­ a bi curious, monogamous girl
Because we can grow alongside one another, but not fix
each other
because you need to process
because if you’re with her, she wouldn’t have a reason other than “my boyfriend really wants to” and that is the worst reason for polyamory, and I am not nor have ever been in the business of hurting people with intent (excluding  grade school, ((I’m
sorry, Martina – double sorry you died from
leukemia,) excluding when you c o n s e n t )),  
I’d like you to answer all of those, then
maybe I get to hold you.

That’s my daydream. Holding you. Watching films, you commenting on them the way I’ve done and annoyed all of my lovers.

how your neck would smell

                                      how your hair and head would feel in my hands

how you’d shiver and breathe shallow, and how easily
I could make it calm.  

and yeah, subspacing you and using your body, I am not entirely ace.

I have grown,
Yet people think I have fallen.
I have known,
Yet I am tired of calling.

A mere boy at twelve years of age,
I became something frightening.
A mere child who turned a nasty page,
The change struck like lightning.

I had seen abuse,
Trauma plagued me each day,
I dreamed of noose,
Thought God would make me pay.

People met my words,
I called them ******* and ******,
Mocked them as *****, geeks, and nerds,
For my mind had few doors.

My homosexuality burned within my being,
Struggling against the bonds of religion.
I did not want people to start seeing,
My ****** "sin", fragile as a caged pigeon.

I cut into my wrists,
Hoping for some truth to seep out,
Every day I encountered lists,
Of similar youth who "noped" out.

God hated me, that I believed,
He wanted me to bleed then die,
I knew not how to be relieved,
Knowing my pigeon would never fly.

But as the abused grow tired of abusers,
I became tired of God,
Whom dealt me a life of users,
A life significantly flawed.

My situation was not enough,
For the pain did not end with abuse, or cutting,
He dealt me the deaths of three I loved,
Set on the task of my gutting.

Or so I believed at the time,
When God harbored within me.
When mythology guided my climb,
When I remained unfree.

I threw off the shackles of religion,
No fictional being could **** my pigeon.
What God would put me through all that,
Then proceed to bless a sewer rat.

What God would **** children,
What God would **** children?
You do not have an answer.
Why do children die to cancer?

I will respect you,
But I will not share your belief.
Too much pain, for me and others,
It continues to daily reap.

I have grown,
Yet people think I have fallen.
I have known,
Yet I am tired of calling.