Our secrets seem small until we see friends fleeing from the sound of their truth

Secrets deepen the longer they are held
Each one pill sized
Swallowed
Hidden from view
Left to bloom and grow
Working their way through limbs
Sapping strength
Choking heart
Catching tongue
And always the hesitation
To say what was
What you tell no one
Lest they scoff and say not real
Not you
The image before you cannot be who the festered darkness says you were
You know your secrets to be unpalatable
To be outrageous and impossible
To be true and heavy
Lead weights keeping you from the last mile
Last steps before true connection
Instead tending an inner garden of night blooming flowers
Each deadly and poisonous
What was done cannot be undone
Then what good will speaking do

Emotional shotgun: feeling lonely during the holidays edition

I have dreamed a thousand lives and in each you are there. I’ve kissed you a thousand ways. Made love to you with word and skin. Fucked like beasts. Commanded and caressed. But in each, you will not stay. All I have learned, all the pleasures, the highs and the lows, all my knowledge I bring and still you walk away. I bare my soul and jump with my heart wide open, and still you walk away. And so I wake, because why live in the dreaming if I cannot be with you. I wake and try to find a way to another.

But I cannot get away from us. Why are you still single? Always that question. Always the answer, “That’s complicated.” Hoping they let it go, hoping to allow you to know me better before most of my secrets come spilling out.

I suppose I could lie. That’s the logical thing to do. But I can’t betray your memory. I won’t lie. So they hear a tale of sadness and pain and depression and that’s no way to get a second or third date. Yes, date.

Netflix and chill is bullshit. Even if we get to the point where sex is involved, I’m going to refer to those nights as the nights we fuck. Or better, as scene’s. Give me some emotional connection or give me a paddle in my hand. Preferably both.

A proper date. With dancing, with music, with conversation.

Fuck! You can see how bad I am. I’m all over the place even just writing about looking for a relationship.

Just shortcut it. If you like me, read me, and call me SIR and mean it. We’ll get there. Roll the dice. Make a move. My caution comes from a good place, it’s not lack of assertiveness.

Or ask me to text you, apparently I’ll ramble on and on.