A Fantasy
I met Him at the gym
He smiled with a grin
As he notice how
I flirted with him

He said,
Hi, "My name is Tryone"

Well, I introduced myself
Told him he looked
In great health

As he deadlifted
500 pounds

Nice and tall
6 foot three

Oh how he could
Punish me

This black man
Named Tyrone

We worked out
Together
Several times a week

He was so hot
It was hard to speak

Such powerful
**** cheeks
This black man named
Tyrone

One day
He invited me
To his home

I went ahead
And turned off
My phone

As I new
The fun was about
To begin

I dropped to my knees
And began to blow
About 9 inches
You know

Was this black man
Named Tyrone

I laid back
On the couch
Head over the side

My feelings for him
I could not hide

The next thing
I heard was "open wide"

During this afternoon
With Tyrone

It's only natural you see
To let a ******* use me
That's the way it should be

As I greedily
****** and blew

His towering meat
Swelled and pushed

Did he want to
Stick it in my ****?

There was no
Saying no to Tyrone

No more feelings or shame
Life is a fun game

And after 30 min
It begin to rain
Ropes of thick hot cream

Oh what a dream

He was quite rough
And a bit mean

He told me
He always got his way

He made me ****
And lick his *****

Even called me
His "*** doll"

As I gulped down
His creamy mess

But his **** still throbbed
And he wanted more

He said,
" I want a *******
**** *****"

And with that he threw me on the bed

He told me
To take all my clothes off
And stick my ***
In the air

I did it with wild abandon
Who really cares?

As we both
Got tested for stds

Please
Please

As he rubbed ****
On his massive **** head

And I spread my *** cheeks wide

Every bisexual man's heart
Should be filled with pride
Before he takes his first ****

fap, fap, fap
I heard him rub ****
All over his stick

Yes he had a gorgeous *****

As he slowly entered my ***
Ahhhhh I groaned like a *****

Yes God ******
I can take more

As his entire shaft
Disappeared in my ***

***** deep now
Isn't it fun

To have this massive black ****
In my ***?

And ****
What the homophobes say

Nice and gentle at first
I did not want to be hurt

And he respected me

I felt him swell, felt him grow
He rubbed my ***** you know

As his member
Expanded inside

His hands on my shoulders
He began to pump
And **** me as I screamed...

She made me wear
A pink french maid's uniform that day
I had to wait on her and her black stud lover Tyrone

Fix them drinks and make them dinner
These are the duties of the ***** cuckold

It's hard to be inferior to him
He is so well-built and powerful
A perfectly sculpted body
A large and powerful manhood
He is every woman's dream

She reminds me that no beautiful woman
Will ever want to be with a ***** like me
That my manhood is too small
That my *** drive is too low
Nature has dealt me a bad hand

I sit by the bedroom door
This time I am not allowed to watch
She only told me that they would be doing it *******

I sit next to the door
I hear her load moans and sighs
I know he is pleasuring her
In ways I never could

My goodness
Forty-five minutes have passed
And they are still going at it

I peer through a crack in the door
He is so powerful that he can hold her up
As he thrusts deep inside her

I am not strong enough
To have *** in the standing position

What a man he is
He can squat 300 pounds
And has a strong powerful ***

Look at him ******
She screams in ecstasy

After she is finished
She will tell me how wonderful he was
As I polish her high heels

After he leaves
I have the humiliating and exciting task
Of giving her oral pleasure

These are the duties of the ***** cuckold

When my father was a boy,
in the County of Tyrone,
His father owned a quarry
and he worked the fields of stone.

My Dad grew lean and hard
As he excavated stone
Yielding granite for stone carvers
And gravel aggregate for roads.

His hands grew strong and powerful
He had a muscular physique
He couldn’t read or write
But no one dared to call him weak.

When my Dad was in his twenties
He was working in the mines
Excavating British coal
at Newcastle on  Tynes.

Later on in life
He was living in the “States”
Working in landscaping
on large Gold Coast estates.

When my Dad was in his fifties
He was digging graves by hand.
Once again in Fields of stone
a hard working Union man.

Each morning he’d rise early
And walk two miles to work
He never had an office
And he’d never be a clerk.

He rose to be a foreman
Working in that field of stone
And when darkness overtook him
It became his earthly home.

Now when I go visit him
I kneel and pray alone
Beside his Celtic Cross
standing in the field of stones.

I.
My parents worry about my brother,
he gained a lot of weight during middle school, and it isn't getting better.
Twins yet, nothing alike,
I have always been small, and honestly hope to stay that way.  
This is why I worry,
worry about my brother and his health and myself, my health.
I cannot help but think,
because we are twins, one-day will it happen to me?
I'll be fat.
Is there anything I can do? I must take control. I cannot turn into him.

Today at lunch,
I watched him eat two ice-creams, I had a salad and a milk.
No one notices.
At dinner mom took away the pizza after his 5th slice.
I had only one,
but I didn’t feel hungry enough to eat more than that.
They watch him,  
what and how much he eats and the exercise he gets.
But not me,
I can take care of myself, I know that I won't get fat.
I have control.



II.
They know I'm an immigrant, my English is rough
They don’t believe I'm from Jordan
"but, Jordan is in Africa, Africa is poor."
I used to love my gold bangles
Mom asked why I don’t wear them anymore,
They distract me in class, I say.
She seems so sad, although we are doing well.
Other immigrant girls wear cheap clothes
And watch me with hateful eyes.
My classmates make fun of them
For they are sad, poor immigrants.
       What am I?



III.
I came to America, for freedom
I came to America, daring to dream
I came to America, as an Islamic Idiom
I came to America, for enlightening education
I came to America, with bright beliefs
I came to America, it seemed simple
I came to America, to be called negative names
I came to America, to learn my label
I came to America, to find fear
I came to America, only to live lonely

I came to America, not as a terrorist
I came to America, seen as a terrorist
I came to America, to leave as a terrorist  



IV
They say it is the pastor's son you need to watch out for,
They have no idea
When I first felt it, I knew what they'd say, I knew I would struggle
You are going to hell
Now I have a secret, a fake identity. I CANNOT TELL ANYONE
I'm living in hell
Whatever happened to, all are a child of God?
I'm only a child
Whatever happened to, love thy neighbor?
Oh, if the neighbors knew.
Everyone else calls him father, and so do I
But not for long.
When I come out, I'll only have my god.
Father will disown me.
I may be Catholic, and I am defiantly gay
Am I loved?











V.
Nonna?
Yes, my tosors?
What is Predu-ou-jise?
Prejudice, she sighed.

Prejudice is when they won't hire your father, because of our name
Prejudice is when your brother cannot get into school
Prejudice is when the girls won't let you dance with them.

When I arrived, I could not work
When I arrived, I was to stay at home
When I arrived, I had to be married

Out in the world, I feared for my babies.
Out in the world, no one could work.
Out in the world, we face walls.

In my casa, I raised my babies.
In my casa, I worked and cleaned.
In my home, I kept up the walls.
  
Generazione,  
You'll live with Prejudice
Don't worry, you won't find it here.    

I am Nonna, you are bambino
Italiana live with love,
not Prejudice.  

      


VI.  
There are many reasons why people get sick, but I am different, I am a sick that you cannot see.
Depression feeds off me as I lay in bed, while Mom tries to feed eat breakfast
I can't, I am empty. Empty in a way food can't fill. I am only full of junk
  I have lost myself, again behind all the junk and  I'm not sure why
I thought I was doing well But in the end, I am still just broken
Depression causes Frsuteration Anxiety starts it all,  
All day and everyday I am less less of myself
Each drug, coping method, and session
But in the end, nothing can help me
They say a person has to want to change
I have wanted  change for so long, in every way
But every day I just wait until the shadows creep up
They creep up, **** me dry, dump my body for others to find
When people find me, they are shocked, can such a smart friendly girl
Be such a broken soul with so much pain, they wonder why I hide, yet they are the reason
VII.
First it was due to stress.
Then, the variabiles made me shake
They call the variales anxiety
They said that boys dont usualy have this problem
They said the anxiety caused this problem
They said the drug would help

First it was feeling far away
Then, they upped the dose.
They changed it once
They changed it twice
They said I was showing signs of improvment
They said I could get back in the game

First I felt better
Then I felt off
They said it was whatever was left over
They said I desrerve to be healthy
They said I’m not broke
They know it’s all in my head, literally
They said I’ll get my head back in the game

First off, I hate feeling like this
Then I look in the mirror and think
How selfish
How broken
How stupid
How weak

I have one of the better situations in the world;
I am a White, Middleclass Man,
I am getting scholarship to college.
I have no reason to complain as I do,
I am fed and housed
I am a privileged person
I have freedom to swim in
I have a supportive family

Why am I so unsure?
I am taken aghast by any change in pattern,
Will I ever be emotionally stable?
Are they ever going to look at me the same?
Will my team accept me again?
Am I going to make it to college?








VIII.
no one trusts me anymore
Why do you think that?
well, pretty sure its not cause im black
Okay, so what do you think causes people to not trust you
i dont know i just a reg guy tryin to make friends
Do they think you are trying to get something from them?
why would they think that?
Because you are an addict
right…
… and…
im trying to get better honestly
Possession?
yes
So how hard are you trying?
Tyrone says i need treatment
So do I
k, but youre supposed to say that,
Yep and you are supposed to trust people that you call friends
They say those things because they care about you
k, ill talk to dad again
Thankyou, love you <3
have a good night sis.

I asked you.
Do you love me?
You replied, I guess.
That spoke more then you know.

I asked you.
Wouldn't you love to be rich?
You replied, yes.
That you surely knew.

But the question's that meant the most to me.
You treated it lackadaisical.
Yes, no spirit at all.

And now you're wondering, why you're alone?
I would say call Tyrone.
Like Erika Badu.
But he can't affrod a phone.
Let alone a home.

So this I guess.
Have affected your world.
All because you didn't give the right answer.
When asked.

If you turn it around and ask me.
I state it with truth about the way I feel for you.
There won't be this I guess.
Because you would only hear three words of truth coming to you.
I guess.
Well maybe I will.
Then again, I guess I won't.
Then again.

Same **** different day
But today is New Year's Day
....Same **** different day
Hung over
New Year's Eve leftovers
Stuck on resolutions & do overs
Picking up the broken pieces & starting over
I headed to work with every intention to make it all better
Then I picked up "Friday's paper"
Said it once then said it twice
A part inside felt a little less safer
Homeboy died in Friday's paper
police Closed his eyes
but he finally feels a lot safer
Mommas screaming why in Friday's paper
Rather die than suffer & stay alive
Spend eternity w| her angel
Because in her eyes
There's no survival
Where's God when all you know is sinning
Baby's hungry so he prepared to break in
But that's not what they saying
Friday's paper headline "**** break in"
He want the money & the drugs
So he break in
Food ain't enough & he breaking
How can he step forward in a world they already set locked gates in
In other words segregation
Buts it's decades later
Yea well you know segregation
White privilege
Under one nation
****, ain't nothing different
Just ask Friday's paper for confirmation
Poor white man w| mommy issues
finally had enough & shot up the whole school
Young black **** shot cs his black hoodie ain't seem too cool,
Ok Amber we coming to the rescue
Tyrone got kidnapped who?
I know y'all see this
or do y'all got a blind eye too
cs there's no reason why we have to fight to survive
while you ask daddy for a check or two
I'm living off a check or two
& you need 3 bathrooms to survive
why does the law apply to me
more than it does to you?
How do you look down on me
when I created you?
Lip injections,
hair extensions
ghetto expressions
that ain't you
but here comes Friday's paper right on cue
Zendayas dreads are unacceptable
twerking is ghetto too
While "keeping up" with the exact  life you ridicule
then have the caucacity to put it in Friday's paper too

                                      -G

My cohort is shattered, the regiment reels,
from the lead of the merciless foe.
I'm wearing the blue, Fredericksburg,62'.
I''m a conscript from County Tyrone.
Saint Mary's Heights is a most fearful sight:
****** acres of men who won't fight again,
Our wounded are dying alone.
The devout say a prayer, others blaspheme and swear.
I just wish I was back in Tyrone.
Up on that hill wearing Butternut grey
are Irish like me from back home.
Sure they gave out a cheer when Meagher first appeared,
with our banner of green, on his Roan.
What mortal flesh can, we did in the end
Some died just in sight of the wall.
In the cold dark of night we survivors take flight;
Rappahannock, protect us I pray.
I'll never forget the screams of that night
or the butcher's bill we had to pay.

Silently, with tiny beats,
You let me know you're there,
Amidst the fluids and the fat,
Craddled in an un-ending embrace,
I'm just waiting for the day to come,
When you'll emerge to see the world,
And we can hold you in our arms.

It was at the stroke of midnight that the Earls took flight;
sailing from Lough Swilly, sheltered only by the night.
They headed for the continent fleeing from the Stuart King.
Better far a death in exile than let the English clip their wings.
They sailed to raise an army to reclaim their ancient rights,
Not admitting that Kinsdale had become their final fight.
They lost sight of Downpatrick as they sailed the storm swept sea.
The verdant hills of Ireland they nevermore would see.
The English and the Spanish had determined to make peace.
Tyrconnell died soon after, some say he died from grief.
James Stuart called them traitors; took their titles and estates.
The Gaelic order was broken and by Protestants replaced.
Tyrone would end his days in idleness; his corpse interred in Rome.
His spirit wanders restless still, a soul without a home.

I stared, stupidly, at his head
and the pool of red he bled
from the brass rail down onto
the barroom floor.

Had it been a half an hour
He, so cocksure of his power,
had first set foot
inside the barroom door?

I'd been alone but for the Doc
a Presbyterian Scott
who just come from
a hard delivery.

Mom and child were doing well
but the Doctor looked like hell
so I sat him down
and gave the man some tea.

I 'm the Pub man's assistant
and my job that Winter's morning
was cleaning up the place
for this day's trade.

Had I been out in the snug
I'd have never met this lug
who is lying on the floor
fit for the grave.

I am Irish from Tyrone,
He was from Lancaster-shire.
To his thinking I was
a blight on English soil.

He was spoiling for a fight
which he started with a right
that sent me sprawling
on the barroom floor.

He said "Get off the floor,
and I'll treat you to some more."
"You stupid ****!"
His boon companion smiled.

I'm not one to shun a fight
when I'm firmly in the right
and these arms were toned
by years of quarrying stone.

Was it surprise I saw
when He learned I'm a southpaw.
Satisfying was the sound
of fist on chin.

As he commenced his trip to earth
It was the foot rail caught him first
He cracked his skull
and then he was no more.

His friend ran for the police
as his pulse and breathing ceased
Doc looked up at me and said
"This won't go well"

" Take my bicycle and flee
Off to Scotland , listen to me,
unless you fancy
dancing on the wind."

So I rode like one possessed
on the narrow winding roads
Early winter darkness
coming down.

After, I worked on dairy farms
and spent three years in the mines.
Eventually, the case grew cold
and went away.

I emigrated to the States
where they too have
their loves and hates
but the Irish are accepted in a way.

I wish I could dance like Fred Astaire.
Or Gene Kelly just to show you my moves.
I'm sure all of them would impress you.

I wish I have the charms of Cary Grant or Gary Cooper.
Since that seems to be the type to impress you.

Of the dashing looks of Tyrone Powers.
Since that seems high upon your list.
But, I'm just a me.

You have the grace of Grace Kelly.
And the independent heart of Katherine Hepburn.
And the good looks of Yvonne Decarlo.
All ladies of style.

Still, I'm just me.
Who else should I be?

If I pretend to be another.
Then I would be fooling myself.
And you would never see me beneath the myth.

So, I be me.
Until you see the best in me.
I know my qualities.

For years, it remained hidden,
behind a picture in its frame.
Seen, unseen, forgotten
behind people now unnamed.

My cousin went to toss it out,
but felt the metal’s heft.
She felt, refurbished, it would look nice
on her Mother’s antique Chest.

Her husband took the frame in hand
with the thought to paint it blue.
“What’s this?” he said when,
from the back, a paper he withdrew.

There upon the yellowed sheet
in a spidery scripted hand
were our maternal ancestors:
Great Grand Ma and Dad.

Great Grandfather was John Devine
of Kildress Parish in Tyrone.
His bride, Sophia Gormley-
a name, till now, unknown.

They had a child named Margaret;
Grandfather’s second wife.
She was mother to my father
and thus my own path to life.

The name Sophia stands for wisdom”
and she married a” Devine.”
Thus I may claim a 1/8 share
of wisdom that’s D(e)Vine.

It's no fable.
During the forties, who didn't admire Clark Gable?
With the common sense of Rhett Butler.

For instant.
Who didn't want to be Cary Grant?
In Affair to Remember.
Admiring and loving a woman forever.

Who doesn't know a shy man like Gary Cooper?
Who came across as a true trooper?
Who stood his ground in High Noon?

And what man didn't burn for Elizabeth Taylor?
With the beauty to make them roar like the MGM lion.
Or is it only me.

Maybe, I'm just living a Hollywood's dream.
Thinking of things I wanted to be.

Lights, Action, Camera.
Is all I use to remember.
When I was pretending be Tyrone Power.

Maybe I was Sean Connery.
Doing all the secret agents type things.
Maybe I'm the Lone Ranger or the Cisco Kid.
Out to do justice for those in need.

These are the things that fantasies do.
When you realize pretending is better than a toy.
Which has been replaced by computers.

It’s in the good morning texts
And the look of pain when he smacks my ***
The way you tease me about Joanne
And spray cologne to visit me on a Sunday afternoon.

It’s in the way you stroke the crest where scalp meets face
Brushing my hair behind my ears
And then stroke where legs meet hips
Making my toes curl and back arch

I love you.

on my stoop thanking whatever the power is
(I call her my Fairy crack Mother)
for just the other night I had 200 superfluous dollars
(and a white wild hair up my ***, a demon from my past
calling, calling loud)
I called Rof, and Tyrone; J-rock, Sam, T-bone; Jeremy,
Cadillac, Tiger,
( no no one answered, I even drove to Tar-hill where all the time ,
three or four options are available and never before did I come home empty)  this night: I did!
I let the bitterness intrude as I slept instead of peeping out the window and hearing strange heart beat sounds thumping all night
( but...I slept uncomfortable and once or twice cursed, her (my fairy crack mother))
then today, like a plan had come for my two hundred dollars.
And I gave it to someone who needed it for food,
and surviving. And I got a high, so much more that I went out and
sat on my porch and watched the dark- the evening come-
and my fairy crack mother, I thanked- cried finally seeing,
She has always
taken care of me.
And gave me this chance to feel how it feels
to feel a good thing, for once.
I guess I do believe,
in Fairy Crack Mothers!

I smoke cigarettes so my boyfriend will love me
and I know it's alright with Jesus above me

My First *******
Tyrone Washington broke my cherry to
knock me up good on his very first try
even though I told him I'm in love with
some dumb-***, pimple-faced white guy
So here I sit pregnant with a smoked-out
laugh that is hoarse, ragged and tinny
after buying baby clothes at the Salvation
Army to clothe my newborn picaninny

****-Faced No More
The nights are over of me puking drunk by the river, moonlit lunar
now that I gotta ***-feed this tar-black ******* named Tyrone, Junior
which is why I'll never again let an ape use my **** as a **** door