love

He held my hand

He held my hand

With four fingers across my palm

As a sign of love

But to my great misfortune

I was unable to grasp

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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?

Nothing behind it

I don’t mean to be cruel or abandon, but I have been here too many times before. Don’t tell me I said forever cause we both know I’m not that foolish. I’m not the one with two tatted sleeves looking for permanence. I can’t listen to this stupid talk. Not when there’s nothing behind it; those three stupid words with nothing behind it. Don’t tell me, “We’re in this together.” He had mistaken my hiatus as the same as his surrender. I could never be happy being someone’s reason for living or dying. I kiss his forehead to say goodbye. I can feel his heads collapsing from the weight of juggling the dichotomy of the selflessness of living and the selfishness of suicide. His fists, his tears, his pitiful apologies have been preparing me to leave over these last few years. Those three stupid words are nothing. His eyes are empty. He bores me. I needed to relive every minute and keep the demons away. I needed to relive every minute, and avoid all the mistakes. But I can’t. All I could do is say, “I like you. I like you? I liked you. I liked you?” I handed back his gun, turned my back and put my hands over my ears, as he put the barrel in his mouth. This scene was too familiar, our weekend ritual, but I was surprised that he actually went through with it this time. I called 9ll, lit a cigarette, and walked. He probably thought I was going to follow. He believed in those three stupid words to the end. But there wasn’t any thing behind it. You can’t love someone who becomes a chore.

……. Just wanted it to stop.

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.

ultimatum

ultimatum

september 10th will be the two year mark and you want more. 

Move in or break up. 
I hate all or nothing requests.
What I want and what is possible are two different things.
So I guess, we break up.
For real this time.
we can get high off each other.
But, can’t remain good friends.
So we’ll make each other want to die,
to give each other strength to walk away & stay out of the way.
Maybe years down the line,
my name will come up in conversation
& you will have nice things to say.
And I’ll see walking down the street, I’ll smile & wave.
Until then I’ll hate you,
For holding my hips in your hands
and then pushing them away.

(Saying goodbye & growing up are two things we’ll never learn to forgive.
Not being able to let go & fall out of love are two things I’ll always regret.
Realism defeating romanticism will always break my heart.)