Thursday, February 9, 2012

Falling asleep the evening I turned 26.

No longer a young buck,
I hear the train roar.
Here in bed with a gay man who loves me,
not where I thought would be,
I could never of predicted my scarlet letters,
my bruises,
this broken unbridled spirit.
Quoted to be loving with out condition
I question everything.
A time, an age when I should be firm,
it all turns to a jello mold.
Quivering as the new neighbor
delivers a gift she knows damn well I won't eat.

I prefer to drink my calories.

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