BALD JASON'S GAY GOTH BOY BLOG
A Work in Progress…Welcome Back!
When you cut me out
it feels like betrayal.
When you strut and nut
it reveals our portrayal
of unified bliss
is a kiss and a drug.
Whatever you do
it will not be enough
to slake my erection
and satisfy hunger:
Symptoms of sickness
from when I was younger.
Written by Jason Wright
September 19, 2019
I live unencumbered
then fall in black hole…
As he gives him his number
I lose all control…
He hands him his ticket;
he smiles at spouse…
I should feel quite different;
instead I’m aroused…
I should call this off
like any adult…
He turns head and coughs
as he gives him results…
I’m awkward;
can’t move;
the swinger has spoken…
The play doctor grooves
as winner is chosen.
Written by Jason Wright
September 19, 2019
Write for retirement;
just at your leisure.
Write for requirement
or write for just pleasure.
Write without warning
for real life and poetry.
Write about mourning
or strife (if unknowingly).
How is it my choice
supported thy fighting?
How is it my voice
(distorted by writing)
is what liberates me
when lies often do
more than castrate me
when lies are the truth?
Written by Jason Wright
September 12, 2019
Returning to trains
and to thoughts left behind;
enduring these pains
as existence rewinds
with smiles anew
for the lust and the yearning
that keeps me alive…
that keeps me returning
with Aaron a GO
and possibly Michael –
I’m questioning content
of sodomy cycle:
“This one is solid!”
while “This one is pointless!”,
“This one is squalid…”
Til one is appointed
worthy of probing
for one of my station:
a worthy disrobing
for self-excavation;
worthy of one’s progression
through sex;
worthy of love
through expression of flesh.
Written by Jason Wright
September 12, 2019
Five years ago this month
I had wept.
Not good enough
or not good enough yet.
And three years ago
it happened again.
He didn’t love me;
only a friend.
And now once again
or still not, I’m fraught.
I thought that I was
but it turns out I’m not.
Written by Jason Wright
August 15, 2019
A pearl wisdom true
gives reflection it’s depth.
A girl I once knew
lived a lesbian death.
She lied in her harbor
where enemy craved her.
She died a martyr;
lycanthropy saved her.
A reckoning spree:
woman slaked takes acumen.
The beckoning tree
can again make her human.
But will she return
to the world up above?
Why must she burn
for the girl that she loves?
Why must she suffer?
Why must she drown?
Why trust another?
Why up and not down?
Why must she try
myth reversals as treatment?
Why must she lie
with werewolves in secret?
Written by Jason Wright
August 15, 2019
For J.B.: “The Drowning Girl”, The Wolf and the Woman in spades.
Confusing DILF picture
adds layer of lust
to bruising filth mixture;
betrayer of trust
who back in the past
when present was future,
through lack of the ask
cast gent as abuser.
*
Doctored exuberance
from strangest of men.
I was awkward pubescence
and patience by then.
My doctor was present
which deftly he used.
Doctor was pleasant
which left me confused.
More than one patient;
Jason inside me.
More than one statement
was latent inside me.
And doctor was plural;
what’s quizzically true
is that doctor was neural
but physical too.
More than one practice.
More than one patient.
More than one mattress.
More than one Jason.
Deranged dereliction
of duty imbued
with strange contradictions
that strangely are true.
Innocent action
or wholly obscene?
Fact that this fraction
unholy was clean.
With no penetration
in sterile space.
And no abdication
of crime or disgrace.
With no policed questions
the proctors undress me.
Priests at confessions;
the doctors molest me.
Doctors are judged
through initial neurology.
The awkward begrudged
judicial apology.
*
And DILF in the picture
looks back from the past
and I am not injured
but was I the last?
And was I the only
or was I just lucky?
With no testimony
at least I’m not bloody.
Written by Jason Wright
August 12, 2019
I listen to Cigarettes After Sex
and Men That I Trust
as I wander the streets of New York.
I smile –
sad smile
for closeted younger version of myself,
lonely and wandering a well remembered
if faded watercolor fairground
and the man that I saw there…
I never spoke to him,
though we recognized each other –
or, should I say that
we recognized the truth in ourselves?
And that recognition was dangerous,
reckless, unplanned and perfect.
I’ve written of him before
and I’ve thought of him
even more times than that…
We crossed paths on the cusp
of momentous change.
And on an overcast Friday afternoon,
I stumble for words to capture
his vivid, pained echo,
which has forever remained a part of me,
despite the seemingly inconsequential nature
of our subtle, surreptitious, serendipitous encounter.
Written by Jason Wright
August 9, 2019
Our eyes scan attrition
our lifespans deride.
Our eyes have permission
our hands are denied.
For we knew the other’s
years before now.
And we were spent lovers
in tears before vow.
We took from each other;
we grew and we parted.
And we ended truly
before we had started.
Written by Jason Wright
August 9, 2019
Last night it rained
I slept in my blasphemy.
Woke up with pain
from dreams of my family.
Choked on the truth
as I ran to the freezer.
Spoke to my youth
who did nothing to please her.
Snuggled with ice
and disguised my not knowing.
Struggled to rise
and devise plan for growing.
Buckled with verbs
and humbled by breathing.
Struggled with words…
Struggled with meaning.
Written by Jason Wright
August 4, 2019