#gayprose

[avmanervino-blog]

Since the stars were young

I am moved. in a quiet and in a subtle way

this is a thing that has not happened to me for a time

such a time that it was my impression that the boundless nature of my heart had been caped

and I was able to love one in parts and pieces.

where in years gone by I have loved like nature unhinged

a typhoon, an eruption, a tempest unchecked

this love is new.

I love him like the spreading warmth of a dawning morning;

light so slowly spills across the earth

and the shadows, like my demons, retreat in fear against his golden glow.

he is as breath or water, sweet and clear, essential

- a thing that without I would not be.

I have woken to him and been made aware.

quietly it came to me that he,

a thing of myself yet beyond myself, was before me

and when the veil was pulled from my eyes I saw him in his splendor,

unmarred and radiant before the barbed and poisoned eyes of this world.

yet for all that stood against him he was not diminished.

And I love him.

I love him deeply

in a place so far back that my soul cannot seem to touch it.

I have loved him since the stars were young and carelessly scorched across the blackness of the sky.

[itsghostgay-blog]

Kissing her is coming home to a house that is filled with someone else’s things. It is like a long car ride in an SUV littered with old gum wrappers, like drinking lukewarm wine straight out of the bottle on a summer night, something that makes my throat burn and my stomach fill with warmth and I want to fall in love with the taste but I’m not sure that I can. Kissing her is a dirty type of clean; it is the grit underneath my fingernails and the song stuck in my head. Kissing her is loud and lonely and new, and it terrifies me. She pulls away, now, catching her breath as she shifts her weight on the bed. Her hair, still damp from the shower, hangs down over one pale eye and she tucks it behind her ear. Her lips are red and swollen from our kiss, like strawberries puckering on the vine in the golden sun. I look at her hips, my eyes tracing the curve where body meets mattress, and I feel something like guilt twist my stomach. I roll onto my back and blink up at the ceiling, at the little paper stars she hung from the window sill, at the dried flowers taped to her mirror. I find her in the pieces of her room because I cannot look at her body without feeling the familiar ache, the throbbing need to touch, to hold. I hate how loving her makes me feel sick. She moves closer to me and I am flooded with warmth where her skin meets my own--here, her leg wrapped around mine. Here, her head resting in the crook of my arm. Here, her nose against my cheek. Here, her breath on my neck. Goosebumps prickle on my skin.  This, this, this. “Jade,” she says, and she whispers my name like maybe it matters. Her voice makes me tremble, the smell of perfume on her skin starts a fire in my throat. Her hand finds mine (here) and she pulls me towards her, moving upwards on the bed so our faces are touching.  “Jade, are you okay?” I can’t answer. Her thigh, touching mine. Her nose, touching mine. Her forehead, touching mine. Here. Here. Here. She kisses me again, then, and I hate myself because I pull away first. Her hand finds mine again and she kisses my cheek. “Jade, what’s wrong?” And suddenly I want to tell her everything. I want to tell her how loving her makes me feel dirty, and it isn’t her fault but I don’t know how to make it stop. I want to tell her that I want to love her, but a part of me will always pervert this good thing; a part of me will always scream that this is wrong and this is bad and this is sinful; a part of me will always refuse to hold her in the way that she needs to be held. I want to tell her that I do not think I will marry a girl, even if I want to. I will have a good Christian wedding at my parents' church and I will wear a white dress. And that night, I will make love to this man who my parents love more than I do and we will raise our children in a small town. I will visit my family on Christmas. I will smile when people ask me how I am. I will throw away every rainbow sweater I own and learn to fall in love with the color grey. I will hold my breath, and maybe then I will feel clean. She moves closer, almost as if she can hear my thoughts. She wraps her arms around me and whispers my name over and over again. It is a song, a prayer, a lament, and it is good.  I kiss her quickly, softly, and ache because this is what I want more than anything in the world. I want to cut off all of my hair and hold her hand in the city. I want to move to a little apartment in a big town and ride the subway to work. I want to speed down the freeway at 3am and sing the words to every song at the top of my lungs. I want to love her and not feel like I am doing something wrong. I kiss her again, again, again. She tastes like bubblegum and summer wine, and letting her go feels impossible. “I love you,” I say softly, and then I am crying as she says it back. She brushes the tears off my face as they come and holds me like I am the last thing left on earth  “I love you, too.” She breathes. “I love you like the summer sun and bare feet. I love you like stargazing and rooftops and loud music. I love you like cold coffee and old movies and big sweaters. I love you, Jade, I love you, I love you.” I am still crying and she is still holding me. I want to feel clean and normal, I want to feel safe and new. I want to feel the good things that everyone else feels when they are in love. Instead, I just feel as though I have faulty wiring. This isn’t the first time I’ve collapsed like this. It isn’t the first time I’ve thought about the way my mother’s shoulders stiffen when I talk about girls and the way my father’s eyes darken for a moment when I come home, cheeks glowing. I remember asking them if they cried when I told them that I do not love like they do, and they did not reply. For a moment, I hate my heart for making my parents regret creating me, for making whatever god there is deem me unfit, for making the world view me as a fetish and a liar but not a human. But through it all, she holds me. I am breaking in her arms and still, she holds me, her arms safe and warm and strong and home. “Jade. Jade, it’s okay.” She murmurs, and her lips graze my ear. “It’s okay, Jade. It’s okay. I’m here.” And for once, maybe--here in her arms, here in her bed--I believe her.

something about girls who kiss other girls

[strivingforsanity00]

Put me out, put me out

My limbs are burning, my core is aflame

Burning, curling and nobody but me to blame

Put me out, out of my misery

[banterwiththevoid]

Hashbrowns

When I came out to my parents it was a lot, that I was gay, that I was staying with my wife, and that I was polyamorous. After I told them, they didn't know what to say so we made hash browns like we did when I was a kid and we couldn't sleep, except with coconut oil instead of bacon grease. I wish it had stayed that simple. Will I ever actually talk to my dad again?

[fucksandfuckedups-blog]

When I fell hard

After breaking up with Christoph, I had some hard time with the idea that I could offer more than just friendship to guys. Now I was free, but freedom tasted like Wodka and random kisses in parties. I wasn’t single in the past 6 years. What do I do with this freedom? To whom do I have to give it now? How long do I have to wait? I felt so insecure of myself for a while. Thinking I was not attractive to people, not just physically but also in a romantic way. And the only way guys would keep interest in me, would be if I sex was on the table from the beginning on, therefore I thought to myself, maybe I should go out with someone I don’t find attractive, but looks sane enough to be a friend. And there he was, some chubby guy and smaller than me. He looked good in his picture in Grindr, just not sexy. Perfect!

We went on our first date for lunch, he was telling me, that since he got back from the uk he had not made any friends in Frankfurt, and he was solely looking for friends, this couldn’t go any better. I remember talking about everything and nothing, but it went for hours, maybe was his British accent what I found entertaining. Somewhat later we decide to go out for a walk in the park. I was drawn to him, but he had already warned me during lunch that he was lovable. Overconfident would just start to describe him, for his size he definitely had some big balls to talk like he used to. He was all so sure of himself, an I did not expect liking him this much, I thought this date would be over quite soon. But he did look better than in his pictures, he was not chubby as I thought, and apparently this selfie he took was so close to his nose that made him look like a parrot in his profile, but here I was with little mister universe, radiant and magnetic. Suddenly it got really cold, and I, as unprepared as I was, came with just a shirt. So I asked him if I could grab a jacket from my place. After all we had walked so much that I was relatively close to my apartment. So I ask him to come upstairs, and he sat on desktop, giving a glimpse to the music I had on playlist, needless to say. We did not leave my apartment again that evening. We shared many things in common to talk about, and after dinner and some wine, I made the first move. I thought he would reject me, he had told me there was someone special for him, and was not looking for anything but friendships. He kissed me back and I felt ever so sorry for him. I saw confusion in his eyes. This was not expected for him, but was something we both wanted. I don’t remember many details of that night, but I remember the warm feeling I had when we undressed each other, like we had being doing this forever. He was not chubby, nut rather thick and muscular. It turns out he was a dancer in his free time and he had just gained some weight to gain muscles. I couldn’t understand how someone having some belly could still show abs and laterals. His legs were the part I loved the most of him. His thighs surrounding me and controlling most of my movements, was I top or bottom? I can’t remember, much of our first encounter. This was not sexual, but rather intimate and secretive.  He left first thing in the morning after breakfast. We did not talk about the elephant in the room. There was someone special for him, and he had gone through this with me. This is how our play pretend house started. Later that evening he would come back and the routine would start anew.

Sometime later I asked who this special one was. What were we doing and why would be having sex if there was someone for him. I wanted him to tell me that he was lying, that he used this line to be more distant with guys. That he wanted me. But truth is I expected what he spat of his mouth. “I have a boyfriend, and we have been together for seven years”. I just couldn’t understand how that would even be possible. He was with me for the past week every day in my place and in the last month I was at his place a couple times. “He lives in Wien, and we skype once in a while. But lately It has been hard to keep up with him, and I meant to tell you. I shouldn’t be doing this”. I wanted to get angry and hurt. But the simple idea of ending our lives as we know it was even more hurtful. So I decided to play along. I was the other one.

The worse had not happened yet. He told me this was not the first time he was with someone else. There was an Italian guy, with whom he had an affair like ours. But Rick ended it because the Italian wanted more, he said “I cannot end a lifetime with my boyfriend, I can’t just do that, F. is my family”.  He said it, and there was no chance for me to get more than these sweet nothings. So there I was cutting carrots in the kitchen while he was on the phone with his boyfriend thinking what I want with my life, several months passed and I realized I wanted more. While we were walking down the park I told him I was not satisfied with this. And I wanted more. I told him I had strong feelings for him, to which he replied “Yes, I know you love me Mario.” He was not even going to allow me to say it by my own. What do I actually have with him? This was just another love with an expiration date. “Well, yeah maybe I do love you. I do” I cowardly said, Rick stood for a second and quietly said. “Thanks for sharing your feelings”.

Next weekend, at his place I told him I wanted to talk to him. I gained some strength during the week. I couldn’t go on like this. I didn’t deserve this. “Rick, I love you. But this is it, I deserve more”, “So now what, are you going to leave me? Why do people want to leave me” complained with tears running down his cheeks. I felt pity for him and a petty satisfaction, the man who had me half alive the past months was now asking me to stay. I hugged him goodbye, but he wouldn’t let go.  A Kiss and I was soon in his bed again. Next Morning I left without saying goodbye. I saw him going to class and me from the other side of the street waiting for the train.

There was only numbness, from the moment I left him until New Year’s Eve. Singing in constant replay “Phoenix” by Aimee Mann, changing the word Phoenix by Frankfurt from time to time made me feel better at the time.  How could a song describe my heartache so precisely? I had sung the song many times before, but now I would mean every word of it. But it was true, I’ve had my fill, he loved me like a dollar bill forgot about everything and treated me ill. No matter how much I loved him, it was not going to change anything at all. However just after New Year’s Eve I received a text from him. Last time I saw him was a couple months ago “hey, how have you been?... I broke up with F.”. I didn’t know how to react. I wanted angry at my pathetic self for getting happy about it, thinking this was hope going to solve everything. I needed time to answer. Some hours later I received another text. “but Now I am with the Italian”. I didn’t deserve this. But I’m thankful he reminded me what kind of person he was.

I wish I could say it was the last time I saw him. But I was so angry at him. I just wanted to rub in his face how happy I could be without him. How happy he could’ve been. A year later I went to the Gay Pride with my friends and Christian, my next trophy boyfriend, I went to the political stands in the Gay Pride. I thought I could see him there, and I was right. There he was drunk and thinner than ever. I was so happy to see him loose his jaw to the floor when he saw me again, way fitter and with a new handsome guy. I made small talk, let him recover from his surprise. And I took a bottle of the wine he was drinking with us.

That was not right to Christian, but for that matter we wouldn’t last long. And I was not done with Rick. We wrote again and although it was not a continuous channel, he let me know he was happy with his boyfriend, and there was no more affairs going on with him. He loved his new boyfriend and wanted a new life with him. This to my ears sounded like a challenge. It didn’t take me a month to get him into my bed again, and getting mad at me for fucking him like a cheap slut. Well, I never said we would continue being best of friends after what happened. Now he is single. And I am satisfied.

[itsghostgay-blog]

I think it’s hardest because you’re moving on and I’m not. It’s like we’ve both been climbing the same mountain for a while but you got to the top sooner. I guess it’s stupid to say it that way because you’ve been climbing longer than me, I just don’t know how else to say it. Maybe it sucks the most because I still don’t know how I feel about you yet and I shouldn’t romanticize you and I think not being able to have you just made me want you more. Now your eyes make me giddy and I think of you and laugh and everything about you fills me with something I haven’t felt since the girl with dark hair who wasn’t what I thought she was. You are good and kind and strong, you are clean and safe and home. Holding your hand is sitting by the fire and kissing your cheek is summertime. I want to touch you and look at the stars, I want to kiss your velvet lips and tangle my hands through your hair, I want you to read this and know what I’m saying and feel the same way. I want to breathe in your smell forever. I don’t know why it feels so raw that you’re leaving because you aren’t really even mine. I don’t think it should ache like this.

but the aching won’t stop

[itsghostgay-blog]

i. sometimes i feel like i am sitting on the bottom of a swimming pool with your heart in my hand. my chest aches and my throat stings and i can’t breathe; there is water fighting to fill my lungs. your heart keeps beating and mine does not, i think about how the water is almost the color of your eyes, my vision starts to blur. this is how i die.

ii. sometimes i feel like we are perpetually doing that thing when we walk side by side where we are almost holding hands but not quite and i want to reach out and touch you but i’m too afraid and people are watching us anyway, people who don’t like rainbows very much.

iii. sometimes you let me kiss you on the cheek and my stomach swells with something like birds or butterflies or a sappho poem and i don’t think you notice. i see how you turn your head slightly when i pretend to kiss you and how you don’t usually take my hand first. i see it and i don’t know how i feel.

iv. sometimes i feel so very alone as we sit in the backseat of your friend’s car as she smokes another cigarette, and i’m not sure if i want you or i’m just exceptionally lonely. all i know is i bought you roses again tonight and my heart is aching again and i don’t think you know that i write about you too often.

v. sometimes i think that maybe i am one of those people who is so desperate for any kind of love that i am destined to care for someone--anyone--until i break. i know that i will settle no matter what because the hunger is too much and i am too sad and this night is too hot and i lost my favorite sweater again and all i want is yours

vi. sometimes i wonder if you fell in love with me or my words first, or maybe neither at all. i think that i fell in love with all of you and now i’m not sure i know how to get back up.

[banterwiththevoid]

I am angry Angry you couldn’t keep me safe Angry you didn’t get me treatment Angry you didn’t get S help for her eating disorder Angry you didn’t get K help for cutting Angry you didn’t get yourself help for headaches Angry you didn’t Angry you didn’t You just didn’t My whole fucking childhood Defined By your inaction By your mindless obsession with self punishment With hard labor Self victimization And blaming the other I am angry that you called gay people pedophiles That you told me I was the same as my attacker I am angry that you are still saying this I am angry that you refuse to listen Refuse to learn That you don’t fucking care That you are so goddam apathetic Frozen Inactive Trapped by your inability to face your fear That it isn’t the world that fucked you over It was your own shitty choices So I am in a funk Because a friend got beaten up And it could have been me Because everyone seems to be hurting Because I am hurting Because you have abandoned me when I needed you most When my life was crumbling and I was cracking apart You were inactive Afraid Timid And so today I put on makeup Because even if it’s pointless Even if it doesn’t do hardly anything at all At least putting some color on my face Is doing something At least after all this Coming all this way rebuilding my life with no help from you even when it is hard to get out of bed i can still do something fuck you