Monday, February 12, 2018


there is a freedom found in being different, if you can fully grasp what it means

you don't have to follow the norms around you, the ways you've always seen

when you give yourself permission to dye your hair chartreuse, or wear a pink cape to Walmart, regardless of abuse
you'll have found the freedom granted when nature said you'd be this way

you'll start to be thankful when the normals call you gay

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

He Leaves

He leaves.

Not a ton of sadness. There was potential. We laid a good groundwork.   Started to be friends.  Played frisbee.  You sent me girls to date.

I dropped the catalyst.  I didn’t need to.  I had kept it in reserve. 

It was a powerful catalyst that I had in abundance.  The abundance made me discount its power.  And it’s volatility.

So many of the reactions had been perfect.  I lobbed the element out to anyone I passed.

Except work.  Work could not have that. I knew the reaction would be poor.

So you were like many others.  Or so I thought.

One night I cast the catalyst at him.

He sent me girl after girl I could date.

I told him my desires for girls was inert.

I threw in the phrase.  I am gay.

It was by text.  So I couldn’t even see the reaction.

He said. “Cool man. Good night”

We didn’t talk any more.

I felt shame almost immediately.

I had no idea what he thought.

But. Things had changed. He was distant. Never mean. But distant.

I’m sure I didn’t help him.

And now he’s moving.   Just a few months after he moved in.

So. I’ve lost a potential friend.  Not a long term one.

But I’ve lost someone who could have been friendly.

I don’t know why.  But I guess my secret though less volatile, still has the potential to react poorly.

It’s not the end of the world.  It’s just the loss of a maybe.

unopened packages

I love game stores. I love walking around.  Seeing all the board games, and the potential inside them.  Often i'll buy a game.  Too often.  I have scores of games, and sadly a good number of them are unopened.

I think back to some of the happiest times in my life.  It was when i was gaming with friends.

I buy games, to bring back those times.

But i don't need more games.  I need friends.  all the games in the world are worthless without someone to play them with.  

Friday, November 17, 2017

Out Out Damn Bigot

If they knew I was gay they would mock and defame.  They would add in derision when they speak my name. They would turn away quickly and always despise.  They would glance at anything other than my faggity eyes.  They would hate me and worse they would make me cast out. They would forget our old friendships they lip would remain stout.

Except. They do know--almost all have seen my secret. I like men. That’s a fact and there’s been no throats slit.  They still smile when they see me.  They still look at my eye.  Some of them talk with me deeply about liking the guys.  They still play disc golf and Ultimate.  They still chat most all day.   They still turn on the ‘tendo and invite me to play. 

So I guess the dark voices that fertilize fear really shouldn’t have much of a place left in here.  The voice that should rule is the one that is kind. The meanest voice about the gay is the one in my mind. 

I’ve been called a faggot by no one but me.  I’ve been sent down to hell by the voice inside me.  I’ve heard the words I fear most no from friends or dear kin.  The words tipped with poison have come from within. 

The acceptance i need isn’t in life’s crowded hallway. It’s the bigot within I must struggle to slay. 

Friday, September 22, 2017

Corinthian Glass

I stand here in stark openness. Clothed yet naked. You have been given a grand key. The master lock is open. You know.

And here I stand. The first time since you found out my secret. What do your eyes search for? Are you looking for clues? Some evidence you should have seen previous. Do I look the same to you? Or am I courageous, or sinful, or contagious, or alien.

Am I still human to you.

Am I still family.

Please! What do your eyes see.

Do they still see me?

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Death of the Party

I see you.  I behold all of you.  Your little party.  Your feigned joyous vocal ejaculations upon seeing each new guest.  “Oh how have you been?”   “Oh my look how preggers you are!”

Partaking of food, of drink, I sit her, perched in the corner.   I hear you, I comprehend your motives.  You, broad shouldered rugby type, you want to go home with her.  Your smiles are bigger for her, your eyes, though distracted, re-calibrate constantly with her at the center.

You, oh how big and rich you are.  You telling about your job, and how everyone jumps at your command.   And you telling about your boat, your vacation, your family.

Oh now you’re all talking about your hot molded bodies, under the guise of fitness hints.  

What a scene.  I sit in the corner. And now I strike.   Each of you analyzed, each of you primed to fall.  With the a paring knife I slice through the tethers you’ve been so gently weaving throughout the night.   The girl you want?  I distract her with culture.  You fume.  She laughs.  I have no need of tethers.   I deflate your dirigible by talking about your companies scandals.   Oh sure I don’t mention your company, I just mention in passing something I heard in the news.   Now your blimp is limp.  The hot molded bodies.   I cannot destroy that, but I can talk about how you were.  Bring those memories back to everyone.

You come to me, “how have you been?”  I talk about my rashes and poor job performance.   Quietly you shuffle away.

Things are more quiet now.   Slowly I have been putting the party to sleep.   Slowly you leave.  I return to my perch, pick up a novel, and finally breath.

Wednesday, August 2, 2017


The ones like the twos. The twos like the ones. The cleave to each other like silverware stacked in a drawer. 

They think I'm a one. Most do. But I'm a three. I walk past twos and ones all day. I like the ones. But they don't like me. They like the twos. Some twos like me but I don't like them. 

Then one day out of the ocean of ones I found another three. Then I realized we all had been hiding among the ones. The odds were never in my favor but just knowing that in the sandy beaches of ones a few threes hid, made it bare able. I can never tell if someone is a three or a one. But I can hope. 

So which number are you?