personal

In the ways of love, I’m weak.

For me, love has been only been lust with jealousy and ownership, and insecurity. Love and death are the same. Its unwanted, and it will destroy you until you are nothing. Love appeals to the lowest instincts, and makes you desperate for survival. The erotic life makes you say yes and the love life makes you say no. Love humiliates you. How do you say yes when you mean no and vice versa? In the ways of love, I’m weak.

My heart keeps bending. When will it break?

After almost 8 years, the longest and most rewarding relationship I’ve ever had may be coming to an end. It has honestly been the most fulfilling thing in my life, but its slowly decaying over the last 2 years. I’m trying really hard to intellectualize the entire situation, but it still fucking hurts. How do I move on when I know its not caused by a lack of love, but a disconnect of lifestyle needs?

There is so much of my life that wouldn’t be possible without him. We edit each other’s writing. We make music and films together. We go on trips and take photographs together. I know that our creative journey together is not over, but I think our romantic journey is over. How do I end one without compromising the other? How am I supposed to suppress my love for this man, but remain the same level of intimacy necessary to keep creating great work with him? How am I going to move on and meet someone else if he still is the most important person in my life? What if the reconstruction of our relationship changes the work? What if we become uninspired? I know I want him in my life for its remainder. But how is that possible?

I owe this man a lot. He was my only friend for a very long time. We went through drug abuse, self-injury, depression, suicide, family deaths, pregnancy scares, identity crisis, and sexual shame. We got through it because we had each other. I wouldn’t know who I am as an artist if it wasn’t for his encouragement. I wouldn’t be as confident without his faith in me. I wouldn’t know how to be unashamed about my queerness. How the hell am I going to meet someone who celebrates my queerness like he does? Who else will love my filthiness? I love the taste of his cum. I love fucking in nature & in public. I love his drag queen & how he loves my drag king. I love the way he finds my body & mind equally sexy. I love that we can go to the bathroom in front of each other, ingest each other’s bodily fluids, pick each other’s noses, and pick bugs out of our hair. I love that we can try every taboo without shame. I don’t think I will find any one that understands me this well again. He gives me the security I need to be confident about being me. He gives me an unrestricted environment to be my authentic self. I wish he could give me what I need and so does he. We both know he can’t and it kills us.

I know some people never meet any one that they connect with so deeply and I should be grateful. I am. I’ve never dreamed any one would love me at all. I had love for 8 years in an emotionally, creatively, intellectually, spiritually, and sexually fulfilling relationship with a partner that respects me as an equal. How many people can say that?

I know I need to accept that its over, and have the courage to end it on good terms, but I can’t. It hurts too much to let go. I’m clinging to who I thought was going to be my partner through out life. I’m not ready to turn him into an ambiguous loss. I know the parameters of our relationship and his commitment issue changing is a dream, but it’s my dream. I’m not ready to give it up just yet.

Maybe we can still work this out.

My shame weighs more than yours.

My shame weighs more than yours. It’s the reason I keep turning up at your door. But, I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hate myself. Make love to me like I’m better than the horrible things I’ve done. Like the deaths I’ve profited from isn’t me. Like I’m forgiven for stealing change from junkies’ O.D jeans. Forgiven for turning emergencies into tragedies. Make me feel like I’m always as beautiful as I am asleep. I know I’m worthy of this from all the rooftops I’ve stood on without jumping.

I’m your revolving door.

I’m just turned off. I should just move on. Can’t believe you act like this. Saying what I should never felt so good. Didn’t know I could walk away like this. Do you think I’m selfish, proving I can live far away from you? I can’t handle the distance that stands between us. We promised we were made for each other, but we ended up living in the different worlds. You were so good to me before, but I feel like you hate me. You use my love like a revolving door. You never seem sure. It’s just not enough any more. I gave you the world without a return. It was always on your terms and now I’m just hurt. But I’ll come crawling back to you, begging outside your door. I will forget all the times I’ve cried on my bedroom floor. I always feel more than you want me too. I try to pull you up, but you push me down. There’s a place in my heart that beats for only you so how did you get so confused about loving me?

Corner Store Cocks

I’m walking down my street
the lords of Flatbush see me
in my sun dress cause it 90 degrees
trying to buy a drink & papers
all i want is to roll some trees
corner stores boys cat call me
they whistle at me like I ‘m a dog
so I guess I’m suppose to let em’
hit this shit raw mother fucker
ass & tits giggling out my dress
pretty young thing oozing sexuality
so maybe I invited all this hostility
But I never asked any one to look at me
My block boys call me snow flake
grab my ass & tell me for a white girl
I got cake & they wanna cum on my face
I laugh & smile as if to say its okay
cause I could scream & shout all day
but egos & erections won’t let them
hear a single fucking word I say
No point in starting a convo
with chumps that can’t hold one
I grab my mystic & ask for papers
cut in front of the crowd
throw my bills on the counter
tell him to keep the change
ignoring the hand on my waist
throwing white privilege all over the place
just to get the thirsty boys outta my face
I’m a feminist like Emma Goldman
But if she was blind, deaf & dumb
Ignore the glares & act unfazed
Get home, roll joints, bumping KRS ONE
My mind is right & my body is tight
but I guess I’m only good for one night
Not gonna lie, some times I like that attention
But its my life’s mission to avoid the men
that makes you consent out of self-defense
that wants unlimited oral, vaginal, & anal penetration
These boys talk a lot of shit but sex aint sex
if you need to conquer some one
or you feel entitled to fuck whoever you want
I aint saying all men are like this cause
I know they can make emotional investments
and woman can be casual when there’s mutual respect
If these boys would treat me like a person
they would have a pretty good shot
but they too busy thinking with their cocks.
Wondering why men can’t take me out to eat
before trying to get me out my jeans
But gotta stop trying to figure this shit out
I could do this all day & only be left with stems & seeds
I guess my mama was always right
the good men are harder to find

Seasonal Poems

Fall:

Leaf

Desperately hanging on tightly
Anticipating the long fall
Let go of fear and hesitation.

Listen to the breeze sing
Songs of freedom of hope
Snatching you by the hand
Engaged in a graceful waltz
Gliding slowly down
Letting every color show.

Death bed is approaching
Breeze tucks you into your resting place
The way the season intended.

Winter:

Snow Day

I woke up late
Surprised by the time on the clock
I peeked out the window
Amount of snow was quite a shock
Rushed to the tv
My school was closed I was happy to see
Went to the closet
Mom had my coat and snow pants ready for me
Ran out the door
Cold wind nipped my soft face
Danced around
All day at my little girl pace

Spring:

Spring Crush

Play with your hair
Pretend not to care
Don’t let him see
you’re weak in the knees
You giggle all day
your smile gives it away
You’ve lost your cool
You’re acting a fool
Your face blushes
Stupid crushes

Summer:

Best Summer

Summer in the basement
Avoiding the hot pavement
Put my favorite album on
Sing along to every song
Sit in front of the fan
Feels so good on my tan
All my friend are here
There is plenty of beer
Drinking quite a bit
Everyone is laughing & talking shit
Take a drag of a cigarette
This is the greatest summer yet

Why I am so hung up on him?

Why I am so hung up on him?
It’s simply really. Fucked, but simple.

In the beginning he looked at me with passion and desire, and then out of nowhere it was gone. He was the first boy that I had sex with that I honestly desired and one of the few that didn’t force me to do any thing. He was the first man to look at me like I was a person that he truly enjoyed. He was every thing I’ve always wanted, but thought I wasn’t good enough for. He made me feel good about being me. He saw value in me. But he didn’t want me after a while for a reason he claimed he couldn’t explain. He thought it would be a bad idea if we kept having sex because…. he does not know, he just thinks it’s not a good idea. I wish he would just tell me why because it’s really confusing with my experiences. I’m used to the guys I like not liking me back but they still have sex with me. This guy was the first one to refuse me sexually and I can’t figure it out. I’ve had guys I don’t like stalk me and sexually assault me, and offer to pay me. I don’t understand how some guys force me to be with me, but he doesn’t want me. It’s confusing, and it’s not fair. I want to have what I want for once (romantically & sexually). I feel like I actually deserve some one like him for once. I didn’t know how lonely I was settling for less than what I want. I feel like I will be upset over him for a long time. I have not liked some one this much in seven years. I never like any one this way so when I do I hang on too tight and too long. I don’t know who I am if I’m not with some one, which why I will probably settle again.

Take the Q to Prospect Park

I promise I won’t always be this way. Living in between reasons to live made me unprepared and unaware of people getting close to me. I want you to live in a house with me. My books and scarves are all I have to offer. I’ll drink cup after cup of coffee, if you’ll serve it to me. The caffeine will make us shake as we complain that we don’t know who we are. Our bed will be a place where we sit with our cat and laugh about our day. When its sunny, we’ll pick fruits and vegetables from our garden in our dirty barefeet. I’ll sit in my rocking chair reading Chomsky, while you play mandolin all night. We won’t have any pictures from our past loves. Only empty frames on the wall. You won’t look at me with Holden Caulfield eyes. Only your rough hands. You’ll brush my hair and I’ll trim your beard. We eat too much and not sleep enough. You have a stupid haircut, but I don’t care. I have a yellow smile, but you don’t stare. Like I said, my books and scarves are all I have to offer. But, you could tell me all your secrets. I promise no one else would never know. This house be could our house. But, we only glance at each other. never saying a word to each other. I promise I won’t always be this way. Too scared to put my book down, turn my ipod off, and speak. One day I’ll be brave enough to not be a stranger. We’ll take a walk through prospect park and ditch all these things that are eating us alive. Memories of past lovers won’t haunt you from a stained futon. I’ll buy a queen sized bed. You’ll build me a big house. It could be our house.

Your House

Your house

 

Your house. The wood floor is rotting. The ceiling leaks. The foundation is cracked. You never go inside. Spend your days fixing the exterior because that is what people see. lay down fake silver bricks, which you painted gold. Your neighbors will turn green when looking upon them. I’m peeking from under the cover from the drive way. watching you work so hard to solve the problem in the wrong approach. You come over. Take the cover off and start fiddling with my engine. I will never run. Only sit and rust, like every other broken down chevy station wagon given to a kid by their grandfather. Their immigrant grandfather who was burnt out from the world wars and nostalgic for the old New World. The grandfather who told your father tales of his life in Ireland and tried to teach him right and wrong. He obviously didn’t get through. The bruises on mother’s face were proof enough. You try to get me started because you are really ready to drive. Ready to get behind the wheel, step on the gas and never look back. I can’t. Burnt out from dream chasing too. Can’t take you down the road needed. Need to do it yourself. On your own two feet. Frantically turning the key. Cursing. Praying. Hoping. But, nothing. Slam hands against the steering wheel. The horn works. No longer able to hold back, you burst into tears. Exhausted from desperation. climb into the back seat and go to sleep. The back seat where you always sleep. You would not dare sleep in your bed. That horrible place, which you sat up all night listening to them fight. Nor would you sleep on your living room couch, where your mother placed you to be raised by tv. No, you would not dare go inside your broken down house. The house where you played chess with grandfather for hours. Watched A Star is Born with your grandmother. Painted and played guitar all day. Why would you want to go in, when you can remember from a far? A view from a far is unsharp & shallow focus, where most is unclear. It has been month since you have gone in the woods in your backyard. Would you even recognize the places a girl once loved you so? The river you swam in and fire to keep warm. The mud you held each other down in. Can you even remember a time you were happy? Growing in happiness and love with a friend. If she were to come back, would you know her face? Your vision is clouded from ghost of the past and fear does not allow eyes to open. She in your bedroom waiting. Visible from the window you blindly cover with fake gold bricks. You sleep in the car your grandfather gave you, but forget all the wisdom he passed on to you. He always said, “When opportunity knocks it is not enough to open the door, you have to walk through it. Even if it is not exactly what you want, you need it. You never know where it could lead. Action builds character. If you don’t do any thing, you will never become any body.” Open the door, go inside and walk around. You might begin to smile again, create and rebuild.