Stories of Apathy

[his-squid]

Mass Kelss 

[his-squid]

Back with rust 

[his-squid]

Count my feathers

Kiss my beak 

[his-squid]

i couldnt remember opening to my parents that i am gay. i couldnt remember sitting side by side with my mom on our couch while my hands are clasped against her while she mouths “it is alrght”. nor my dad while he’s busy tailoring as he gazes at me directly and softly utters “you are still my son”. i couldnt remember my brothers protecting me in grade school warring with gorilla bullies because i bring anime paper dolls. and to my sisters, i couldnt remember them suggesting that the colors of our curtains dont match along with my skin as they are fully wrapped around me. i couldnt remember any formal agreement. there were no hurtful words. there were no disbelief. there were no dinner table silence when sexuality is mentioned. there were no “i still hope you’ll marry someday” or “who will take care of you when you grow older?” there were no act of refusal or dismayal. acceptance is not heard through words. it is not evaluated by actions. sometimes, acceptance just comes in peace.  

[his-squid]

A Date:

Snorlax and Clamperl sharing a milkshake. 

[his-squid]

Psyduck eating cheese and

Ralts eating sandwich 

[his-squid]

time is your friend. time is your foe. time is the lady downstairs, sitting on that lobby sofa who would give you false map direction, that instead of right, she would mention left, and you’d believe on that because you’re new in the area, and her lipstick was crimson. time is your dog. time is the glasses that cover your eyes against the sun rays, of being blinded by the light is worse than seeing things in black and white. but when people see you for what you are not, having no vision is way better. time is not just the clock you pay attention to in your first doctor’s appointment, of your name being called, your thighs shivering as you step inside the room, if it is a yes or a no, or a positive or a negative, or a terminal or beneficial or toxic. time is the doctor’s speech. time is when your teacher trusted you to be a family savior, and you didn’t listen. time is when the air blows cold and you’d think about christmas presents, and christmas trees, and your teacher’s private conversation, and coca cola and spaghetti. you hope for time to help you. it did. although, it made you wait, it also made you mature. 

[his-squid]

soon, you will forget that we coexist. a symbiotic relationship.

soon the worries in your eyes will be just another pile of dust carried by the northern wind to distract your attention. i believe i am a part of that. a concrete group of molecules annoying you to mislead your intention, your path of visions bewildered by my chimes. 

i am someone you can’t control. i am someone you offer hope and freedom. i am someone who goes at your back when you’re in need of metaphors for your sorrows and longing. but you will forget me. you will in no time. 

[his-squid]

Cowgays

[his-squid]

"i am finally dating a writer” that day you were thrilled about almost everything. my first prose, my tales. my choice of words, of how i would describe your eyes, or the wrinkles on your forehead, or the hue of the sky congruent to your emotions. you were very excited, probably because of the reason that you’d finally visualize your bloodstream through poetry, of how your appearance would look like in someone’s perspective. your day to day routine scribbled through rhyming words and unheard synoyms. but then i failed you on that, you’d remind me at night, but i just couldn’t formulate enough sorrow. constantly, you’re asking about a series of pamphlets of your visions. but i am not like that. i write because i want to. your body could have been my paper, but it is always despair that i consider as ink. you left and you said, “you didn’t write a thing about me” we had fun, we shared a bed, we shared rent, i woke up with your good morning’s and coffee and sunny side up egg, you slept with my good night kisses, and a small tummy rub. we hoped that we can have a puppy. we hoped that we’d transfer to a cottage or a bunggalow and we’d buy a harp or a DIY swimming pool. “you dind’t write a thing about me” in the end, i realize, you just wanted me for my fantasy, and i hope, you will read this. 

[his-squid]

you mentioned you were smoking cigarette at a patio with some guy. your mouth was clouded. the floor — more likely sloshed with beer. you were talking to him, as you puffed, drew air, and puffed again. the cycle of a 2 am cigarette party. i imagined the conversation topics. maybe science. and history channel. adulf hitler. lobsters. seafood allergy. kazakhstan. probably, you were sitting on a “garden-chair”, crossed-sitting, and you were eyeing him, or you were eyeing the stars, or the city lights, and you started talking about first aid. from bandages and tweezers, your talk might evolve to “let’s have sex again” or “let’s watch seal documentaries”. you mentioned you were smoking cigarette at a patio. i don’t smoke, but if i do, we could have talked about something you’re interested about. 

[his-squid]

happy birthday to you. no balloons, no mocha cake, no orange-pineapple juice. just me, and my presence.

 no firecrackers, no skype. no spaghetti. no gifts. no daisies, or roses, or candy mints, or peanut brittle. just me, my hand, my words, my presence. 

happy birthday to you. no late night movie date. no beer, no wine. just me, probably a dog or cat. 

happy birthday to you. 

i texted you. 

and you didn’t reply. 

[his-squid]

three bottles of beer. i made it as an excuse. i said, you made me drink three bottles of beer. you were silent. it was dark. the lights were switched off. it wasn’t that cold. but i knew your place. “you made me drink three bottles of beer,” i repeated, and you responsed with a hiccup, followed with a sudden gulp of water, and a hiccup again. a long silence, and finally, you uttered, “sleep on the bed, i’ll sleep on the floor”. it was dark, and the image of your eyes glaring like red panther eyes were in my head, and i asked, “why?” that’s everything. it wasn’t a question, nor a stament, nor a disagreement, nor something you say to a cop behind prison bars, but for me it was everything. it was dark, and silent. it was dark and i was drunk. i asked, “why?” this time it was a bit louder. trapped in your room, my words echoed. my miseries were bouncing back and forth. it was dark, and silent. i was drunk, but i heard you when you said, “because i want to.” 

[his-squid]

I am so gay,

I love bougainvilleas

[his-squid]

[his-squid]

[his-squid]