pain

To feel something, anything

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When you are feeling particularly shitty and you just can’t stand feeling that way anymore, it feels natural to turn to sex/pleasure or pain. For me it was depression and numbness. I got to the point where feeling something, anything, was better than the numbness I was mired in.

I sunk myself deep in the ministrations of friends of Sara’s. Pain and pleasure became the only thing I wanted. If it hadn’t been for Eric, I would never have come out. I’d still be mired there. He loved me. And while the scene was a part of our relationship, it was the other parts that woke me up. That is something I will always be grateful for.

My family asks at Thanksgiving to write
down what you are thankful for then they share it at Christmas. Well, they don’t know my life. They are SO normal. I just can’t seem to tell them the truth. I’m thankful for Eric. I’m sad that he’s now passed. I have known love, real love, twice in my life. Both times, they saved me. I hope that I did something for them. For Sara, I will always believe I failed her. For Eric, I hope that he was happy in the last years of his life. I know he found love. I hope M knows that he was loved.

I hope that anyone in my life that needs to immerse themselves in pleasure/pain will come to me. I can help. And if, ultimately, talking doesn’t work then I can provide the service Eric did for me. It’s the least I can do for his memory. It’s the least I can do for those I love.

Green and fecund

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I’m a madness, a slow infection burn
Fingertips dip through flesh
Trace nerve endings, drawn ragged breathe
And the sad whimpering ache of times passing

Thoughts on beauty and introspection

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Beauty is not about your body. If I meant it to be about your body I would have said pretty. Or used the phrase aesthetically pleasing.

When I comment that a person is beautiful, I always mean that I have caught a glimpse of something indefinable, some piece of your self that calls to my humanity. A piece that makes me fall in love, just a little bit, with that person.

Needless to say, I fall in love all the time. I think it’s a poets job to look inside to see and more importantly to write and speak.
To let people know that they are not faceless, not invisible. That beauty lurks in the heart of us all.

I’m not the best vehicle for telling people of their beauty. I’m not great at the whole charisma thing, I don’t think anyway. But I’ll write it, and hopefully they’ll see themselves the way I see them.

Off topic a bit, I’m in pain all the time. Loving individuals is who I am, it let’s me write, let’s me see and I wouldn’t change that. But so few people, see me. And I don’t mean in my writing, I mean me, the totality of me. And it is so very painful to love and not be loved.