I’m In Love With The Stars. With The Moon. They Make Appearances In My Writing More Often Than They

platonic signs of devotion

I am hopelessly in love with you, but platonically. I want to hear from you every time something small happens throughout the day. I want to know when you think of me. I want to hold your hand and walk through a field of lavender. I want to hug you so tight, you will feel it for years. I want to cry on your shoulder and you wipe my tears away laughing that I could have drown you. I want to draw you so I can remember the curve of your cheek and how your eyes try to hide when you smile. i want to let you know that I have fallen in love with myself, because you have shown me that it is perfectly acceptable to be broken and still amazing. We are only humans in this impossibly large universe together and I will be thankful every hour of having met you.

When I die,

Bury me in the forest.

There will be no need for visiting me.

I have found home with the foliage.

The shame of living will disappear as my body becomes the earth.

Starved for affection

‘There are thousands of children starving in Africa’. I was told this throughout my childhood, when I refused to eat dinner. How does my eating help those in need across the Atlantic? It doesn’t, it never did.

How about what I was starved for? It wasn’t food or love. I was told ‘I love you’ by my family every day. Affection, physically, that is a whole other story. My father worked all day weekdays and we rarely saw him. Even on weekends, he had other hobbies. I was raised in church, that god awful place, so we got to see him on Sundays. But he was an outdoorsy person and I hated the outdoors. My mother, on the other hand, well she was a deeply unhappy person. Struggled with depression and so gracefully handed it down to her daughters. We rarely saw her either, she slept her days away. Physical touch, that was rare. I grew up in a ‘loving home’, but the love wasn’t shown, only spoken.

So, i learned that physical touch was an option, not needed. Rarely wanted. It has really fucked up my adult life. Any relationship I’ve ever been in hasn’t been romantic in the slightest. Sex, well that’s what a man needs. It’s not affectionate, never will be. It is something to pacify those urges so they don’t look elsewhere. Me, a deeply sexual person now. It’s awful. It just feels wrong when I have urges for well, anything. I loathe being touched in any way, yet I crave it. I guess I feel the need to be touched. I just don’t trust anyone to touch me the right way.

If affection has never been shown to you, you learn to live without it.

Dreaming of being a better human.

I whisper my secrets out into the universe.

The stars twinkle with laughter.

They share my joy and watch while this new adventure begins.

Societal Norm

I've spent most of my life trying to fit into the 'societal norm'. Gods is it awful. Say this, do this, dress to impress..

Don't curse, please watch what you eat, black is the devil's color..

Get down on your knees and pray to Jesus when all is going wrong, you need to find a man to marry before you spread your legs, sundresses and bright colors..

I'll get down on my knees to pleasure who I wish, it will be sinful. I sleep with who I wish and it will not only be men. If my graphic black shirts offend, well good for me.

I do not believe in your 'God'. I am one of those gays you despise.

Guess what??

I do not exist to please anyone but myself.

I'm doing a damn good job of it too.

Kindly avert your attention elsewhere, while I do whatever I want.

I rightly don't give a single fuck about your comfort.

I think you knew what you were doing this whole time. I hope I don’t get hurt in the end.

I believe in magic.

Not like the magic in fairytales, full of dragons and spells.

I believe in the magic of those small moments.

I believe in the magic of a dandelion growing in the crack of asphalt.

The moment between your inhale and my exhale.

Finding a constellation in the sea of millions of stars.

The way your eyes light up like a stormy sky.

The dew on the early morning grass.

Magic is what makes this world go ‘round.

I’m so thankful to be a part of these small magical moments.

I don’t think about it often. Usually just on two dates in the year. But sometimes out of nowhere it punches me in the chest.

It has been nine years since I’ve lost you. I won’t ever get to know who you may have been. I don’t talk about you, I’m not sure how to.

This grief will never end.

When I have no ideas for putting together the thoughts that need to read aloud by others, I like to pretend that it is not my time yet for my words, thoughts, feelings to be put out in the world. Please, give me a sign when it is my time to emerge from my subconscious once again. These thoughts are slowly drowning me and must be set free.