Tag: spilled thoughts

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Je me suis trouvé

no need to recount history,
know precisely who I am and where I’ve erred.
skimming through Dostoevsky, lying still out in the sun,
blazing to Young Dolph, fresh-cut grass grazing my naked elbows.
degenerate, dissident, long-lost descendant of Ramses II, though far removed from the glittering cities of ancient Egypt.

no need to replay your memories, know exactly where I’ve been and where I stand,
no past indiscretion shames me, no threat of harm from any man phases me,
no corporate shackles can tame me.
my voice is strong and clear like the sound of waves crashing into the shore,
I am a child of the summer, raised in the wilderness.

Je me suis perdu une fois,
mais maintenant…

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Pride is an Inferno

trace me,

follow the nicks and scars deep down to my roots.

tilled in poor soil with not nearly enough sunlight,

yet still I grew undeterred, unwavering.

branches outstretched far and wide like my mother arms,

there to either cradle or shade you (take your pick).

no tolerance left for inaction, 

devoid of patience for justice.

trace me,

the same fire raging you see before you has always burned hot beneath the surface,

always been a card carrying member of the “others” – the weirdos/punks/queers/misfits,

call us what you will, but we’re leading the charge now.

buying homes and settling in your quaint little areas of town,

and that raging fire is never going out.

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    Redux.

    bare bones in the sunlight,
    fear was our chariot,
    now we’re dripping in hope.
    break it down brick by brick,
    tears of joy streaming down your face like fresh squeezed juice in the summertime.
    bury me 10 feet deep, so I can finally get a good night’s rest when it all ends.
    the crowd can carry on and play numb,
    but there’s no respite when the morning comes
    and morning’s come.

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    Lavender Menace

    I remember catching glimpses of it growing up,
    brazenly displayed on the shelves of little indie book shops –
    Butt Magazine,
    a title so queer and unapologetic my pulse raced.

    the covers graced by models captured raw/hairy/nude and always smiling unabashed.
    long before I knew I was their brethren,
    they called out to me,
    artists, poets, musicians, all queer men.

    and now that I have grown
    the time has arrived like a rite of passage,
    a collection of their greatest hits living on the coffee table,
    all my very own.

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    Almost 30

    Let your mind roam

    to all the places you were never meant to go

    all the rules you’ve broken

    Non, je ne regrette rien

    not a single lover or friendship laid to rest –

    not a breathless night lost in karaoke

    cursing, crying, drowning pain in whiskey

    dancing in the wilderness

    wild child running through the city

    For that’s the charm of growing up

    there are no real mistakes

    just research

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    as we descend (into madness)

    read me, scrawled out like half-finished poetry living in the margins of your favorite book

    leave me – tea stained, dog earred, worn and re-examined like its pages

    take me, as once I was, am now, and will be
    there is no in between, no settling
    (recite it like an oath)

    poison dripping from their tongues as they kiss our feet yet inside they’re all just dying to feel some semblance of complete

    rapt from the moment you walked in
    fear no man and no opinion

    letting your love abound instead of waiting for the world to love you