My Lover Brickwall

My Lover Brickwall
We had nights that defined the term unbridled passion. We’d kiss each other so hard, so intensely, as if it were going out of fashion. Even in the dimness of light, the fire in each of our eyes shone so intensely, and so lustfully bright. When my mouth was on him, our eyes would lock. His gaze on me of glee, made me never want to stop. I loved the way he smelled, the way he tasted, and when I mounted him, I loved how he panted. It was like a competition, the thrusts he granted, that hit the spots that made me feel enchanted.

The next morning he’d awaken me by entering me. All I knew at those moments were that this was how life should always be. After the high of lust making, I experienced withdrawal. No worries, usually a round or two more followed. I truly enjoyed his beautiful smile. That alone, made me go on for more than a while. I would then ask for coffee, or rather insist that he’d make me some. He’d tell me to be patient that coffee and other treats were sure to come. After he showered, I would take mine. At his garden patio, raisin toast, cheddar and feta cheese were some of the treats on which we would dine. A savory meal, almost as good as the treats we had shared on the previous night. The conversations we shared were also a big part of the delight.

As undeniable as our passion might have been, trying to open him up was a sin to him. The tidbits of past loves gone wrong, the music of monsoon’s going on and on, were the crumbs of emotions he fed me, that were there all along. Though my eyes and my smile would almost disarm him, his preferred weapon of choice, his strong smile, would win. I would try to dig a bit more deep, only to caste myself a small bit of grief. It’s not that his tales were filled with deceit. It’s just that after displaying his charmed grin, I knew he would not let me in. And no, I would not weep, but frustrations in me, surely began to seep.

Time and time again, we’d both come back for more. We desired more of the passion that glued us together and was never a chore. Something so natural and beautiful and intense, there was never a sense that it was simply a performance. Only when I wanted to know, what was behind those beautiful eyes was when I began to realize, that that would never materialize. The wall that separated East and West Berlin had come crumbling down. But the wall he had created was layered with emotions by the pound. Even the Great Wall of China historically had some intruders. But my lover Brickwall had been through it all. He would let know one in, his wall would not fall.

I once let my own wall come down. I expressed this to Brickwall, how I felt, and he was like a mute, almost making no sound. One of his bricks must have stumbled, not crumbled, he would not allow himself to miss a step and tumble. This rare moment of stumbling allowed Brickwall to express to me, how much he enjoyed our ecstasy. He enjoyed my eyes, my smile, and our conversations. But no more than that, so that neither of us would have the anticipation of expectations. Alas, I knew it was time to move on. He did not want this, but he knew he had to go along. My lover Brickwall who I had enjoyed as my very own, I apparently had never known him at all. We would miss one another, but we both knew, never to call.

My Lovely Little Pit

My Lovely Little Pit

Climbing out of this pit felt so difficult just a few days before. I’ve amazed myself, because I had almost given up. I was so close to accepting defeat, and be willing to live in darkness. “What would be so different about living in darkness, versus living in the light of day? I had asked myself.” Believe it or not, everything I needed, or only thought I needed, was in my pit. A human beings basic necessities could be found in my lovely little pit, which I had created. Food, shelter, and water, and myself, were all that I really needed.
But of course, loneliness began to seep its way into my mind and my heart. Loneliness is much stronger than you and I you know. Loneliness can either defeat you and stunt your growth and impair your senses; or, it can do quite the opposite. Loneliness at times can motivate you to find an inner strength you never knew you had in you. That’s when I knew I had to climb out of my pit. Darkness was still around me. But I had seen the light of day before, and decided to focus on the light in me. This light that was in me from days that had passed was shining still! I couldn’t give up. There was no way I would let myself live in this deep dark pit any longer!
My heart raced, even when it was time to sleep. I had to fight my own heart. Because even though we are all familiar with the old adage, that says you should follow your heart; your own heart can sometimes betray you. My plans were still to climb out of this deep dark pit. My conversations with my heart made me and my heart stronger. It told me it did not want to get out of the pit because of the comfortable familiar feel of it all. I told my heart that I genuinely understood. But I also told my heart that although it had gotten me through so many dilemmas; in this case I was right.
Even though my heart was usually right, when I was wrong, this time it was the other way around. It was almost like a son conversing with an elderly parent. I pleaded with my heart to please let me be the one to take care of it. That way, it would remain strong. That way, it would be able to nurture me again, and again, for years to come. My heart agreed, and it allowed me to sleep.

Will you?

Will you still touch me, even though you know?

Will you still look at me they way you did before,
you opened the door?

Will you still bring me entertainment, with your
intriguing imagination, and not confuse my attention
for infatuation?

Will you disappear out of worry and fear? That's not something
I'd like to hear.

Will you still answer when I call, or will you not be there at all?

Will you still know what is on my mind, like you seem to know, everytime?

Would you even want to know what's on my mind?

Could we leave awkardness and uncertainties far behind?

Gay Life, is War!

Gay life is reminiscent of war.
One might say that sounds bizarre,
but I don’t think that I’m too far
from the truth. Would you like some proof?
Men of all ages and stages keeping up with the
all the latest rages. Shaving off their pubes,
and trying to remain ageless. Dyeing their hair,
some even down there! Let’s not even mention the bears.
They say when it comes to their appearance they don’t care.
Yet you find them attached with the opposite extreme. A barely
legal anorexic boy who enjoys being demeaned. Please tell me
what is with our affinity of labels within our community?
If you lack it, those things I deem plastic, are you living life diminutively?
The fashions we don are like armor. Masking our personalities with ambiguity and fodder, continuously making life for real gays even harder.

Motherfucking Marijuana

Motherfucking marijuana, eats my mind like piranha's.
It makes me feel like Madonna. Yeah right, more like
I'm in a fucked up type of Nirvana. There are times
I wish I could stop, then my heart feels like it's going to pop!
Then I do it and my concentration drops! If I continue like this
my mind will surely rot!

I really don't know what to do. Should I smoke some more, or just a few?
I really need to chill with it, but I'm still waiting for my cue. I need to get
smacked by reality, to stop my abuse, of motherfucking marijuana.

My short book of life

The ducks quack and the birds sing,
that will always be.
But what will become of me,
that is quite a mystery.
My first experience was happiness,
and the second misery.
I'm not sure where I am,
I'm not sure where I'm headed.
I hold on to some hope, that I will not
dread it. The book of life holds many things for me.
Unfortunately, I have not yet read it.

Why am I here?

The way I feel, I can not explain.
Is it anger? Resentment? What type of pain?
I can't figure out my disdain. I can't comprehend
at this moment, why I even came. I simply feel
sadness and a whole lot of shame. All of this consumption
was apparently done in vain.

Just Another Statistic

Just another statistic.
I really should have resisted,
the pressures, that made my
sense of reality seem ballistic.
Never wrong, always narcissistic,
always forgetting my own self, always
getting lifted. Getting so caught up in the
wrong me, I forgot I was so gifted.

When was it, when my mind first drifted?
I can't recall, I'm no longer nostalgic.
Nothing moves me, nothing seems fantastic, because
I allowed my myself to become, just another statistic.
I really should have resisted, because now, it will seem
as if I never existed.