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.'

i think in a way,
i can sense sadness.
and even though it's different for everyone,
sadness has a way of sensing me, too.

i've always been attracted to those types of people.
you know the kind i'm talking about.
with their sad smiles, and deep eyes.
the kind of people who have a story,
the kind of people who have scars.

those people are my kind of people.
you, first, with your parents divorce,
and your bottled up rage,
and the bruises you gave to me in the middle of the night,
in the bedroom on the first floor,
while everyone else was asleep.
the sadness you carried turned into rage,
and i fought to keep you in check.

and then you,
with your closet secrets,
and the dust swept under your rug.
your sadness seeped through those guards on your eyes,
and found its way right into my heart.
you etched yourself into my life,
until the sadness you felt,
i felt myself,
and your soft touches,
and sweet words,
melted into me.
and then it was all gone,
taken away in a flash,
and you walked away without a second glance.

you, next,
with your ever lasting smiles,
and modest attitude.
you never understand how much fun you are,
because you're so focused and caught up in being sad.
i saw stories in your eyes,
and the more stories i heard,
the more i learned why you were sad all the time.
but i wish the most for you, and i wish more than anything that you could be happy.
but sad people well,
they're made to be sad.
but you kept me in check.
we would talk for hours,
about pet names, and would you rathers,
and truths that i told no one but you.
and for awhile there,
i thought you could make me happy.
but our sadness together was too much,
and i ran and hid from the happiness
that i might have found in you.

you, finally,
you weren't the saddest,
or the happiest.
in fact, when i met you,
i didnt even think you were a sad person.
until i saw what she did to you,
how she broke you.
you are sad,
but because of your secrets.
because there's nothing else for you to do but hide.
you should be able to be yourself,
and live your life how you want to.

thats the thing though,
about sadness,
us sad people,
we cling to it.
we hold on to it.
and we learn to depend on it.
because,
"you can get addicted to certain kind of sadness."
and thats that.

Ever have one of those nights where you listen to Johnny Cash's cover of Hurt on repeat while you drive your car into the city and proceed to climb the steps of a parking garage while you try to get your ex girlfriend to answer her phone and when she doesn't you stop sit on the third story railing look down and think maybe if I fell I wouldn't quite die but then she'd have to acknowledge that I still exist.

Ever have one of those nights where you're hanging out on a roof with your friends and you're standing on the edge and you really want to jump but instead you step back and freestyle the bars "**** love it ain't a beautiful thing/ it was created by the Devil and all his demons/ and everything's swell til its ******* ending/ then you're slicing through your left wrist's ******* tendons."

Ever have one of those nights where you're in the driver's side back seat and your best friends are filling up the rest of the upholstery and you're having a good time playing "have you evers" and "would you rathers" and **** get's real serious when you friend turns around and says "Jon, do you cut yourself?" and you just feel the tears run down your face a nod you head and they all tell you they love you and they're always there for you and you know that and you've known that.

Ever have one of those nights where you put on one sneaker just so you can stomp on an old disposable razor spend thirty minutes picking off all the plastic pieces and then carve a train track down your forearm in hopes that all your sadness will climb on board a locomotive travel out your veins down your finger tips and crash land on your bathroom floor.

Ever have one of those days where you’re ten years old and no one’s home besides you and your two sisters and you end up getting in a fight over something you can’t quite remember but you end up in your bedroom crying and decide it’s a good idea to take a belt and wrap it around your throat climb onto your dresser and jam the buckle into the slot at the top of your closet door.

Ever have one of those days where you jump
Where your body swings like a pendulum
Where your toes claw at the side of your bureau
Where your sister holds your dead weight until your feet can find a flat familiar surface and you can breathe again

Sometimes I look at myself and think why have my scars healed so seamlessly as if there were never wires strung through my wrists like a marionette manipulated by the hands of hopelessness maybe the last time I drove a razor blade into my forearm the puppeteer made a mistake and severed the strings he had laced deep inside my tendons.

I once filled a bathroom sink with my sadness and walked away I still don’t understand why if Earth is 70% water God allows so many people to be walking aquariums why he gave them leaky faucets and hands that could turn them like a door ****.

Do you ever have one of those days where you feel like there are not enough “do not disturb" signs in the universe and you've had this growing curiosity your whole life about who is knocking on the other side.

My whirligig giggling and jiggling in an ever gyroscopic balancing act of spotting the to and fro, does sometimes wobble recklessly, even falls down.  Revealing, revolving, evolving windy patterns and magnetism that spin pointedly upon an axis of gender nonspecific intention, it gets back up and twirls again. Whirls again, girls again, boys again, toys again, an accelerator from beginning to end, how can I be propellant and then, marry, tie it down? Letting loose these inhibitions of how such a perfect plaything may be too perfect, too divine a contraption is scary whirlwind to put my head around. Yet, this desire to go with it, oscillate and make rounds seems truer than any boxed in version of wooden wouldn't I rathers.  So there it is, to grace a pirouette with stable partner, might be a portion of the dance, picturesque, but more ensemble pieces may follow. These too add to the brilliant ballet, and we are in it together.

genius is snapping at my dragons. feel free to ask them. they’ll barter hard tongues
and won't apologize for mad hatters. but this. This matters.
it ungathers. It unravels and the sunscape chafes on the void's tatters.
but it rathers you know me now,
than meet me at crossroads.
it's your call.

come
from your unexamined life
and be sitting with your eyes
like two mouths.
they will speak when spoken two;
when i give you all...
and you want me
too.

hello. my name is unsung. and That's the song.
don't get me wrong; but right your vessel -
and
this ocean will float your devils
with your nephelim. with your unbridled elan.
be sweet. keep your feet unplanted, but be enchanted by the road you're on.
find me in the thicket of unbearable seeing.
you will be me -
for the moment you release
' things '
and imprison Nothing.
of course
you'll need a cauldron
to rehearse your heresies
as often.

may i suggest
a new
guess ?

a question that suits you
better than " what the **** ? "

and has feathers ?

can we do that
and love each
other ?

all these are cliches
like
should've,
could've,
would've,
might
have beens,
would rathers...


can't you just say 'regrets'?


because everything you chose to happen
happened for a reason
and the reason
was you chose it
and it was indeed a stupid
choice


and you'll never admit it was


because you'll never learn from
your mistakes
you'll just repeat them
until they become right


because everything changes,
everything bends,
except for you,

except for me,
who'll forever melt in your
alibis

Lisas and Cheryls in halter tops walk the
Halls of Stoughton High full
Throttle, coiffed fleece fiercely feathered,
Tonys and Tims trawling in tow, toting
Texts.

Tims and Tonys slip
Slyly away, skip shop, talk
****, **** a doob behind
Bob’s Baitshop’s garbage dunes, tunes of
Geils and Seeger and Stones, applaud
Lisas and Cheryls, laud deserving
Donnas and Dianes (but dude, don’t
Let on!)

See,
A solitary Tony takes to one shapely
Cheryl’s sultry swagger, staggers, blathers
His rathers, turning her hair’s fair feathers
A-flair, she helping his hand higher up her hip, her
Cup, her concupiscent luscious lower lemon-lacquered lip, he agog, a *****
Dog with a bone.  And a libidinous loner
Lisa prefers a particular turgid Tim, digs
His Doors tee tucked
In to tight tan cords, affords
Herself a longer linger as his fingers
Dangle, thick thumbs hooked in belt. Looked at,
Felt, ***** his hip, flips a nod, draws a
Sneer, paws her rear, she his
Haunch, he steady and
Staunch, Steady and
Staunch
Not gonna
Launch
Steady
gawdamnsunuvabitch!
Thaws the sneer
Right there.
High gears it outta here.

my nightly escape...
I'll lie down, shut my eyes
and my world is my own again,
and you're all over it again...
I'll dream of you again
and wish for eternal sleep
where lies my perpetual bliss
where lies my favorite kind of high
where lies my 'would rathers'
which are my 'will nevers'
as soon as I hear the alarm