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.
The best actor tonight reminded me of you; I thought to speak this but then remembered your cruel insanity and the way you cut me before cowardly running away to your drugs; your marriage of lies and pain, denial and hope, sadness and despair.
I wanted to invite you to our party, the way I always reach out and invite you, but having removed yourself from my life I can’t extend the invitation which you confusingly attested had never been offered in the past… even though I always welcomed you and sought to join our worlds together.
You called me the night that your father died in October 2011, and when I inquired, you said he’d have been happy to have me there, but then there were no words or information given.
I invited you camping for a night in 2016 and you agreed but then your future fiance blackmailed you into staying behind.
You asked me to take photographs of a famed NYC locale which I spent a day reaching to amuse you, only to share them with no response whatsoever.
I invited, again & again, and you cancelled, made excuses, ignored or hid for no reason I’ve been informed of.
Every time I reached out, you were grateful, but refused to touch.
Until the night came of The Body Politic when you accused, expelling your poison laced accusations with no possibility for my response, despite years shared in conversation, dedication and nearly 16 years after the most perfect kiss that I’ll have ever given.
That night I chose not to follow you. Not again. I will not chase you simply because you’ve chosen to run. I will not struggle through your shit just because you feel like being an asshole.
If you reach out to me I will be there, but I don’t have the strength to force you to see reason or remember how I have championed you.
If I’m lucky I’ll hear from you again someday but I suspect I will only hear of your untimely end.
You were out of your mind on junk the entire time I knew you but I just couldn’t see it.
I see it now and no matter how much I try I can’t stop loving you.
The only difference is I love myself now too and I deserve better than to suffer for the choices that you’ve made.
When man disappears and returns as another… Remember his name as if he were your lover… For names hold more meaning than Juliet queried… The essence is dense despite Vampire Theory… And he deserves better than a name that’s not his… Worth more than a score for his compliment kiss… And now that I’ve met him I’ll always remember… At least long enough to survive this December.
I’m sitting right across from you when you tell me how much you want to hurt me, how much it will pleasure you to humiliate me, how much you want to take what is mine, use it for your own gain, and leave me to wander cluelessly, ashamed and defeated.
I’m sitting right across from you but what you don’t see is that I’m not the man you thought I was, and all your schemes were mine before they were yours.
You think he’s sitting right across from you but I’ve taken his place and the words that were meant for him; the words meant to conquer me and raise you up have given me the greatest satisfaction I can imagine.
I am afraid, but it is the fear of an entertainer about to take to the stage where my most impressive performance (which I’ve trained for my entire life) is about to begin at last.
You are a liar and a manipulator. You are hurtful and obscene. But I am something you could not see coming. And though you wish to hurt me I thank you from behind my disguise for you too have an integral role to play.
You, with the help of my co-conspirator, will push me beyond those boundaries I have never dared to traverse, even though the core of who I am has always ached to cross that line.
And in that gleaming treacherous climax where all masks lead to the truth, we will be transformed…
And you, in plotting my downfall, will bring me to my utter salvation.
A childhood nursery fantasy has become an obsession of late.
Everyday I become someone else that I love so that I can have some hope of witnessing what was once deemed impossible.
Love & trust make this elixir attainable but I’m driven completely by sex: a walking hardon.
Always a sexual creature…
Always willing and able to gladly explore any kink that struck my fancy…
Those demons were expunged upon arrival.
All but this impossibly complicated riddle of a contradiction.
This place is beyond anywhere I’ve ever willingly been.
This unexplored erotic nightmare of flesh is: urgent, vital, joyous at finally receiving my attention.
This dream cocaine has made me into a liar, an enthusiastic victim, a nearly celibate slut who yearns for desolation… a chance at reconnection with that hardly humiliated farm boy in those locker room communal showers.
As a child I held such unfulfilled desires but put them to bed (where I have now joined them).
By assuring him that everything is and always will be okay, I have traveled full circle – returning through time to bless his lust, circumvent shame, encourage exploration, and guiding him to disregard their influence; to tame the monsters that would otherwise haunt him until the day that he once again completed this paradox puzzle.
