I’ve spent these last few months living on borrowed affection.
The beneficiary of lust-lewd thoughts I did not deserve.
I even fell in love for a while.
you keep asking me how old I am,
and 22 don’t feel old,
but to some, to some it is.
You don’t talk to people,
and chances are I talk to too many.
But we’ve got something in common,
for all the poetry shaped bits of myself I fling out here,
you’ll find one set of photos of me,
in dark light,
none showing my eyes.
I’m not looking to be desired.
that ain’t quite right, boy.
you got plenty of desire to be desired,
it just ain’t your body you think deserves center stage,
not after all that fuckin’ blood,
not after all that lust-lewd shit you pulled,
not after you broke that poor little girl, boy,
you don’t deserve desire,
you ain’t worth the sideways glance.
I’ve got tenth grade hands,
unsure of what to do as some girl mounts me,
puts her hands to frame my face,
and tells me my desire is desired.
I’ve spent years placing rubbing my hands against the heat of people just-gone,
dreaming of soft-slight forms pressed up against me, hands in mine.
Now don’t lie to the girl you slick-tongued snake,
You’ve had other dreams too, wriggle-writhin’ dreams,
dreams of crumpled forms beneath you,
as you slide in-and-out-and gloryin’ in the sloshin’ moans of it.
‘n don’t you dare say you don’t think those pictures of her ain’t beautiful, boy
you ain’t so good you’re above idle fantasy, boy
you ain’t so good you’re against the desire of her.
you desire to be against her.
you’ve got a slick-tongue, but you ain’t no different from nobody.
ain’t no fuckin’ possible PTSD or whatever shit you’ve self-diagnosed,
ain’t no possible way it makes you less of a lust-lewd fuck-shillin’ bastard.
you love the way your dick feels slidin’ in ‘n out, ‘n rubbin’ up against.
you got desire like she wouldn’t believe, boy,
only thing savin’ her is she ain’t seen you in person, boy.
only thing savin’ her is virginity.
don’t pull this high-‘n-mighty enlightened man crap,
I know you, boy,
better than you, I’d reckon.
you still remember the first half-naked girl you ever saw,
the first half-bulged dick that made your mouth water.
you got lust-lewd-desire like she wouldn’t believe,
i-i don’t have to.
I am more than that.
you’re still in middle-school, boy,
still wondering what mouths feel like pressed up against yours,
what bodies feel like pressed against yours,
We’re not alike.
I can’t help but adore your un-desired ideal.
You’re right that words, words are more important,
and yours are beautiful
but I’m just one more boy that learned too young that he was supposed to take,
supposed to take,
supposed to take what he wanted,
to look at you like you’ve got nothin’ but a double pair of lovely lips,
‘n ass ‘n tits
but you have beautiful words,
and since the–
since the blood ‘n the guilt ‘n the pain ‘n the doubt ‘n
the look in her eyes when you knew she didn’t love you anymore because
you killedyou killedyou killed your son, boy
shoved your dick right in there and killed him.
that’s what you and your desire gets, boy.
you’ve got to live with that.
I can’t have you the way you’re scared of.
bein’ dick crippled don’t make you any better than any of them, boy
but that don’t make me better than any of them,
just less capable.
less of a man/less of a man/less of a man,
whoever heard of a man who can’t take no virginity?
it’s what you’re made for,
they been tellin’ you since you was little.
that’s why we all sound the same,
they been tellin’ us since we was little,
that you ain’t one of us,
that you ain’t/you ain’t/you ain’t more than that body to desire,
and it ain’t right,
but I ain’t better than that.
I ain’t.
ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.
But it don’t mean I ain’t tryin’ to be better.
I love your words,
and you may well be a better poet.
