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How about I try?

I admit, I’m selfish

and bitter, I adore reading, jogging,

Music, singing along to artists and performers

far better than me,

I can barely sightread, I don’t know my range,

I listen, I love hugging anyone,

my friends, my mother and father,

Brothers and sisters

I love film, that canned, grainy layer


Catherine Deneuve and Glenda Jackson from my dusty living room couch

yearning for elegance, clarity, the right words to say,

Wisdom to know when to stay and when to leave,

I cry a lot

at the sadness and beauty

Of joy and pain

Of myself and my loved ones

My chest closes and shudders with each sob,

though I give the space above me

a defiant grin,

I eat sandwiches, pasta, cookies, and drink

Juice, coffee, wine, beer, spirits,

but perhaps not all at once.

I ask for guidance, empathy for my foolish plight,

I want the world to see what little beauty

I possess

And witness the intrigue of the various

Wars in my mind.

dontsaythat saythis andthis thatandthisand that thattoo andthat

I want my hands to constantly create

Things of worth, things my friends want to hold and cherish,

Love, I want an unbridled affection that excites, leaves me breathless,

Leaves me aching, pining for the strength in myself

And him.

And us, to grasp the mundane and shape it into a wondrous part in our lives,

The essence of why I live and breathe and sleep and think

And wish to be, and always be,

An ordinary boy

Born and raised in CA. Film, literature, music, poetry, mostly gay/queer/GSM topics. Stick around if I haven’t bored you yet.

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