The monsters which stand between me and true understanding in this world of my own making; unintentional as they may be they must still die to set me free.
My mind and body are split into fragments which collectively form the state of my being.
The Man I am proud I am becoming, (I’ve worked very hard to become that man), is excited and happy that someone he loves will have this opportunity to explore and experience that divine feeling of mutual lust and reciprocal desire, because I know that he’s beautiful beyond reason, beyond any other lover that I have ever known.
I want him to know this. I want him to embrace this and to accept who he truly is. I want him to know and feel joy and accomplishment. I want him to achieve self-actualization.
A less developed part of me worries that if he knows how much he is wanted he may choose to leave me for multiple partners.
But then again, why would he do such a thing when he already has someone that allows him the embraces of others?
And if he can so easily be seduced from my side is it worth denying him such knowledge?
I love him and could never hurt him in this way.
My inner child is small and hard and terrified of what’s to come; so excited that he may shit his pants, wet himself, embarrass Daddy with his hungry child erection, which comes and goes repeatedly based on levels of excitement and fear.
These images are too base and too powerful to be ignored.
The man that I was before, only years ago now, is fearful of mistakes repeating themselves; liars and cheaters and assholes who could not give me the attention that I needed as they abandoned me to explore all that I secretly desired.
But this time it’s not a secret.
My Daddy knows my shame and my lust.
Daddy knows what hungers make me hard; what makes my legs wobble and my knees shake.
Daddy knows that I call out for him when I’m alone and stroking on the edge of understanding, on the brink of destruction and the verge of orgasm.
Daddy knows how small I am, how much Daddy’s cock overshadows my tiny boyhood penis.
Daddy punishes me; his words whispered lustfully into my hungry bottom’s ears; spanking me with diapers, fucking my mind and my asshole; bringing all that I am to the light that I might solidify and individuate from all that has come before now.
Daddy knows that I crave his calculatedly insincere cruelty to make me cum; to take me deeply into lustful spaces beyond which I’ve yet dared to explore… Impossible places that I cannot reach without his loving embrace of seemingly vicious incantations which (spoken lovingly) brutally summon the fragments within me; bringing me to coalescence in this savage intensity, this immensity of emotion and sensation which I want / need to explore in the paradoxically identical agency from which his own exploritive needs are encountered; that wellspring beneath his sense of sensual worth and attraction which unites us in mutual self sexual exploration.
We’re two sides it would seem of the same themed wet dream that has haunted forever and needs to be conquered.
Two shades of wanting of the same kind of haunting that has taunted forever: we must slay our monsters.
And in the aftermath of our battles be they excessive or successful failures I know that I can hold him and tell him he is loved; the way Daddy has told me that I am loved after he punishes me with unrestricted access to his most insightful lessons.
There are other, lesser fears of disease (given our precautions) but they cannot prevent me from finding my truth in the search for his own.
I love you. I love this. I love that we can hold one another as we walk through the terrifying war zones of our youth.
She messages me about appropriating my memories in a collage in which she dreams I never existed.
She finds it so fantastic that she attended a bar in the ‘90’s where her husband was dancing in a cavernous Detroit Ramada Inn.
Do I have any pictures without him holding me, she asks?
No. I don’t. I took him there on our first date in December 1995.
But I do have some pictures that she can’t erase me from…
That night he climbed into my bed and begged me to mesh nakedly together as I snapped photos and told him I would not be his excuse to sabotage his relationship with this woman.
Aaron says this is because I have standards. I doubt she would see it that way.
But I will not surrender my memories and she… will never know.
Written by Jason Wright January 10, 2018
Another poem originating from April 2017 scribblings on a train.