With the many publicized deaths of LGBT youth in the last few months, and countless more that the media isn’t showing us, it’s impossible not to be in a state of grief. One of the ways that I grieve is to write. I wrote this performance piece as something I wish someone would have written for me a long time ago.
There was a country song on
When I was a young
Boy that, like many do-it-yourself bullshit pop-up McSongs are
On the radio today
Was a list of what the average, everyday
Common man goes through
In his (and I mean his, not hers, mind you)
Long lived life
When lived just right
The chorus declared
From the town square
That you gotta ‘get you some’
Then they’d tell you the what
You called your virgin weapon far too short,
and would not show it to me in full light;
but in a darker glow I took your form:
My happy tongue rode up and down its height.
I drank white nectar spurting from your tip
while you, by firing it, broke into sighs,
inviting me to swallow all your thanks,
and rest my head upon your slender thighs.
Culture, Poetry, Uncategorized »
I run to the bathroom close the door and lock it. I take the place in front of the mirror. What I see scares me, I see myself, my own eyes burn through me. Making me bow my head in shame. I turn on the shower as hot as my hand can stand. I again take my place in front of the mirror. Stripping off layers I become exposed and vulnerable. My eyes critique and smolder through me still. I pull back the shower curtain and sit down directly under the water.