Shouting Into The Darkness

A journal you weren't meant to find

[banterwiththevoid]

I miss you. And by that I mean I miss the smell of you While my head rested on your chest Before I knew you were thinking Of anywhere else Of leaving And for teaching me The smell of a man Is blue-green

[banterwiththevoid]

He held me. In his gaze first, then in his arms. I held him, my fingers finding the ridge if his back pockets and slipping inside like a child pulls the blanket overhead the night before Christmas. Like I couldn't look. Like I couldn't peek. That in the moment these fingers slipped like eyes over covers they would behold his full truth and majesty and rush to the base of the tree to worship the gifts I was about to receive. Our clothes fell like paper in our hot searching. Knuckles grazing jaws in paused stubble kissed moments, when the glint of like from a glad plugin reflecting in your eye felt a roaring fire devouring me in your vision. The line down your chest, made my my lips meandering down your left nipple as my teeth bare bite and find the crest of hair below your navel, my finger running digit under the elastic, center out to hip, the bone, the soft gentle pale, dipping down and finding the edge of your pubic hair, little tufts and tugging down until my kisses seek the short follicles of your manicured garden. And the neck, and the head, and my mouth in heaven as the skin passes lips and the sound mound of you growing on my tongue, the roof of my mouth, my throat. Opening, accepting, imbibing. Feasting on the knowledge of the ways I wish your sex to dwell inside me.

[banterwiththevoid]

I love being gay I love it It feels freeing to not perform Or pretend To be in love with a woman. I love being gay because the only thing that runs through my mind when I squeeze my lover, or trace my fingers down their face, Is to show them my love, to get out of the way of my feelings, To let them see how embarrassingly smitten I am. To sup up each moment. I love being gay because as those fingers fall ear to chin, I don't think about if this is enough. Should I do more? Do they feel special enough to keep me hidden? Is this the right speed and pressure to say "I love you." Is this a kind of touch that will send that message. Should I sit closer? / Don't look at the man across the room / / We should leave / / He's seen me and might know / / What do I do next? / / What do I do next? / / What do I do next? / What do I do? Tell me. I love being gay because now when my fingers trace down that line Across your jaw I think about how that stubble feels against my face And how I want your lips. Your chest against mine And I take a deep breathe and exhale. And don't feel confused or lost. I feel home.

[banterwiththevoid]

June

I think it is the summer I think it is the waiting The heat The waiting The lack of privacy The lack of intimacy Of money Of time Of loneliness abounding in the absence if else Of the feeling disconnected Enslaved Maimed and tired Why is he shouting again Why is he shouting again Why is he shouting again Why is my voice so quiet When I demonstrate patiently again I am right I am tired of fighting Everyday To explain To contain To restrain To reclaim I am tired, everyday, of the fighting Of entering a space and deciding how much of myself to reveal because if I reveal too much your ignorant privileged white cis hetero ass will smile, in that way I usually like, and ask me a million relevant questions that I am just too fucking tired to answer. And i sigh And i breathe And i reach down And my hand keeps finding something Down in the empty barrel of my chest What is left for me? What is left? But the tired Long Explanations For why I am still waiting

[banterwiththevoid]

I cannot save at all I cannot save at all I cannot save at all I can only fix me If i can only fix me

[banterwiththevoid]

I have some cleaning to do.

[banterwiththevoid]

Songs remind me of you

I reach for the one who isn't there No impression in the mattress I can't speak to you This hard break So I pour out onto pages And poems And google docs Scattered fragments I would share with you Like "good morning" What kind of love can't stand the distance? I must find the way To leave space To leave the door open To let love survive on hope alone For you to come back And warm the sheets again But right now I just want to say, "Good morning"

[banterwiththevoid]

A nice man

I was talking to a nice man He was a nice man who was talking to me. The nice man was talking. I can the nice man nice Because he was kind to me The nice man was And when we talked we were so polite And so courteous And attentive The nice man and i were And we talked about things Many things Of no importance Many things Of no importance The nice man and I And when the nice man was nice I felt suddenly that there were kind people yet alive in this world who carry the decency of what it means to be a human who loved and wanted and desired and oh so cherished all forms of being and life. And so i offered a coffee and cuddles Perhaps both at the same time "But you have a partner."

[banterwiththevoid]

I'm so glad it got good again. You don't know how it happened, how you beat the darkness back this time. I don't know either. So I steal a picture. I steal a few moments of video. Purple lights and really good sex.

[banterwiththevoid]

And counting

Again. The same landmark. A sign marked with your silence. tense with my failing To read you unworthy. How many times --- around this circle? Awash in your anxiety "I told you at the start." You speak, to explain to me: I don't love you any - more But him lying to myself cannot be trusted Familiar I stand beside this road again This fork you take me to I cannot save them all. Each breath and step I spend To show you take Again and again while running Away. Take Closed doors Each time cost counted In my silent parts I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I am a robot "I told you from the start." These punctured cards They roll and stutter and numbers come out I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. This will all end in tears The flow I speak this mantra for an hour as a bride in preparation But my marriage to myself And the moment of consummation a gesture of love for myself I will not apologize for who I am "I told you from the start." You ask again "Explain yourself." I am who i said i am who have said i am who i have said i am who i have said i am who i have said i am who i have said i am who i have said i am who i have said i am From the start. The whisper in your ear I cannot compete He speaks you retreat Like a child fears the ocean And wet toed pitters aft the sand Like a game While great blue shifts I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I am not the ocean I do not return endlessly I will not chase forever I am a robot "I told you from the start."

[banterwiththevoid]

I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. I cannot save them all. **hand keyed by simple thumbs, a mantra when you broke my heart

[banterwiththevoid]

Yup

[banterwiththevoid]

I can tell this is something. I always fight happiness the hardest.

[banterwiththevoid]

A new ethics

It's just a fact. Even on hard days, when things are complicated, and I am looking homophobia in the face, be it the face of a stranger, or in the face of my boyperson, when I feel lost and without direction, or exhausted or whatever who cares, because I am myself. I love being gay. I love being free to be sexual in the ways that excite me and that be okay. I love being me. I love being an erratic, indecisive, jerk-kneed, artistic, fast paced, adhd, ball of love and kindness and fierceness and the kind of person who picks up the bag of tortillas for the person in the grocery store who dropped them while their hands were full. I am a badass. I am an amazing person. I am beautiful and brilliant and I light up the room when I walk in. I leave each space better than I found it. If the nature of the universe is entropy, I am the one that beats back endlessly, not for reward, not for the acceptance of some divine patriarch or of peers, but because I am a god in my own right, remaking the world in my image. Reworking the face of mountain to carve refuge for the sick and ones in need of shelter, plowing fields to feed the hungry, in fact and in feeling. I'm queer in every sense, because queer means to chuck the load of crap they call "present," the "status quo," and bin that crap for the scrap heap of history to make more space for love and acceptance and the embrace of a friend who sees you and a mother who comforts you and the whisper of hope on the wind that says this evil shall not carry into tomorrow. Tomorrow is yet unmade, and I will make it three shades lighter than the darkness now we suffer in, for I myself will be the light that chases out the shadow, for as long as I shall live.

[banterwiththevoid]

Beautiful moment. I feel so amazingly blessed. Tonight I was thanked so many times, but I kept coming back to everyone who has loved me and supported me and told be i am beautiful and I have a voice that I must use. Not to tell people how it is, but to fiercely advocate for those who are unheard.

[banterwiththevoid]

fag in a muumuu: self portraits

[banterwiththevoid]

fag in a muumuu: self portraits