Sometimes when you drunk you feel you’re gay and it’s ok. You spend life blah blahing then you get sozzled and feel like sucking a nice dick. Like clean and shaved and antiseptic. Like 3 secs of I’m bored of asexual or femme femme, then this night is gray so I need some hyper fucks.
Maybe In Another Universe, I Deserve You
By Gaby Dunn,
Maybe there’s a universe where that’s the life I want. Where I don’t second guess everything and I’m not afraid of commitment and of the future and of love. Maybe there’s a universe without all the noise in my head and the pride that makes me so fiercely independent and the coldness in my heart that I can turn on and off like a security fence…
Also I heard of her only because of buffering the vampire slayer podcast. Fun inclusive podcast bout Buffy eps.
Okay pretty white girl?
Compared to me how many times have you been called a faggot or homo?
Since you’re correcting me on PC terminology tell me your strife and struggles
Tell me the life you lived as an oddity, a freak/geek/nerd weirdo
The years of pushing through fight fight right to exist plight
Beats and dog piles on the outsider weird guy
Fighting for your pride or maybe life against jocks and thugs and small minds
Boys dumb and fucked, grabbing your man boobs and twisting and laughing suckers up
Calling you gaylord while rubbing your breasts
Hating yourself for fat massed up there
Chestal area no flats there
Fuck you pretty white girl!
For scolding me, trying to educate me, trying to encapsulate my experiences and life with your borrowed online awareness posts
you spoken “woke” and praising self
you huffed and puffed cause you on the right side of history eh?
Troopers and truthsayers all of us renegades
Every new one
Every gen y and millennial a soldier for the reprieve
Of good ones and Reason
Of common sense withdrawn from Our expression
Tell us please
Tell us massa
You so educated
Youse the media plasters
Darlings and camera whores
When you see a brown man talking bout bisexuality or gender politics
Tell me please in comments after this
Me need to learn so I don’t be patronizing accomplice
Sellouts always sell themselves on giving in.
I used to want the brother, the yang to me me. Thought He would be a certain way foolishly. But after hearing so many guys talk real about bros, i understand i was lucky fofucky to have sisters and be myself all these years without outside older brother influence. Many years of thinking i wanted that unreal, that blood kin inside my imagination. Dumby me but lovin the expansion of maturity and awareness.
I feel like I want the drugs, the extra pre scripts that dull and conjecture me, juxtapose my posie me with poised poses that work on the city. Big cities, we all freaky people-span of attention quizzical and busy. Don’t want to be like those Ridilin kids, that predays when chest felt empty, hollow feels and dull mouth mumbling stubbles. Want the focus though. Craving it, insane with the turbulence of concentration flummox just hazy day/night pulling eyes towards bookies and epubs; texts perused aloof for half minutes then abandoned for miles as I run lapse to other projects. Poor bookies, old and new and digital too, looking for touch with silent folds and bookmarks saving forgotten trysts.
Want focus but it must be earned by me. Natural work my butt off training without the montages. Spend some hours for several pages or sparse ink lines.
If I was to be honest with myself, with her, with whomever I latch my emotional wagon to, I would be brave enough to face those hurt faces; the sad, slanted lip, tiny open mouthed pains written on pretty visages. I hat them so much, I recall them daily as I am want to cudgel and flail myself metaphorically; the whole Catholic upbringing shit. Damn you judgy white hats, with your fake laurels and holier-than-thou overly curious digits.
I feel in me to tell, not to tell, am I saving myself or her. The ever-present her that always seems to come every.. year, biannual, lonely half-desperate existential period? Think I care enough about Her? No, unfortunately it is always about me. The favourite, the loved peer, the exalted inner Danny awaiting his forever Shine. So many bads and embarrassments melded into they all love me, cuddle me verbally, eyes so cordial and kindly. Sick of my openness and comfort effortlessly. Everyone says so approachable yet I should be lovingly. Ready.
So closed I get lost in the metal gears that shunt and stern the heartsing. Shards speak words that we afraid to speak, leak, spill onto digital paper sheets. Only brave when it comes to blogging. So utterly morose at the thought of femme loss, hurt faces.
Hurt faces speak volumes upon my deafened ears after years of selfish shit. Want to open but aware of the empty organs pumping materially.