This poem is for me
But I'm writing it to you
Because I've forgotten
My fingers for
Writing to myself
I've forgotten that if these fingers
Come from the man
Who's planning is always two-birds-with-one-stone
And who's quarter jar spills over like a drooling July moon
Then they can probably hold something as buoyant as a basketball
Move it down the court with the confidence and carelessness of
I've-already-jammed-every-knuckle-so-fuck-it
I want to surf harder
Into my own wild wave
Say it here then say it there
In the open
Where tomatoes are thrown
Or worse
Nothing happens:
FUCK IT
I MAY FAIL
AS I SHOOT FOR WHAT I LOVE
AND, BY THE WAY,
I'M CRANKY AS FUCK ABOUT IT
Last night I dove into my favorite ocean of sex
With my favorite body to caress
With my favorite eyes-closed-where-did-we-go
This-is-definitely-home sensation
I'm not sorry for all this surrender to pleasure
We were fucking and I was wishing
I would stop saying in my head,
"I can't feel more.
This is my limit."
And then I finally said it,
"I'm allowed to feel this pleasure.
I'm allowed to treasure my body's joy
I'm allowed I'm allowed I'm allowed."
I howled and cried
But nothing really died
My hater is so god damn loud
And proud like a God Hates Fags campaign
Except God Hates Your Pleasure/Power
God Does NOT Want You In Charge
God Knows You Will Fuck It Up
Delusional child
Delusional cold stupid chatter
Be quiet
Better hide
Better keep it in your journal
The place for dreams is in bed
Can I send you this?
I'm so close to deleting
I don't want you to judge me
Hate me
Be hurt by me
For having sex with him
I don't want to be poisoning
Everything
With my demons of doubt
FUCK THAT
Who cares?
Who can avoid the feral humanness?
It's here.
It's alive.
It's here.
It's alive.
Now,
I am quietly surrendering my fear to the pillow
The low hum window AC
Maybe some weed later
Because I don't want to feel
How much I want
To be somewhere or something else
I just want to go
Now
For a little while
I might also read a book
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