March 26, 2011. This was the last time that I ever saw Sean in person.
Wish you were here and that things were the same as they were when I met you with no one to blame… with no illness or madness or distance between us… I wish you were here with desire to fill us… I wish you were riding and we were together… I wish we were writing and we were forever… I wish that the others who found you were kinder… My wishes serve as a constant reminder that wishes mean nothing in the face of disaster… I wish I could hear the sound of your laughter… I wish I inspired it… Although it sounds sappy… I wish you the best and hope that you’re happy.
Written by Jason Wright August 26, 2011
For Sean: who inspired much more and deserves so much better.
The moments between us are filled with such stillness…
Cherished, Exchanged, Sharing our stories…
With chapters in common and frank allegories…
He gives it to me and I’m touched without touching…
He whispers to me and I’m flushed without blushing…
He leaves me with passion transcended to form…
The canvas is thunder; his heart is the storm.
The sea of emotion by these colors rendered;
the work of a man who never surrendered,
The man in the painting who’s insides are bruised…
Is haunted by faces that used and abused.
Some of the faces are drugs that he’s taken…
Others are ghosts that still leave him shaken…
Some are illusions, Others invented, Some are the sins that he’s never repented.
Others are faces of boys he’s not dated…
He thought that he had but they really translated into nights meaning nothing except what he’s losing…
For riches imagined and instrument moving…
The face is the horror of waiting untasted…
The face is my mirror…
The face of time wasted.
Written By Jason Wright August 14, 2011
For: Johnny Vaughn, who’s artwork inspired it.
Johnny V passed away a little over 6 years after I wrote this. He was a caring friend when I deeply needed one. He and I had shared history but his adventures had been with people who were only ever on my periphery and I cherished each and every story that he gifted me with. He was also a brilliant painter and gave me the work that inspired this poem, though I also put in as many references to his tales that only he might recognize. I’m gratified that he read this and had such a positive reaction.
Edit: 08-12-26 – This was serious. This was a signpost that I followed, which changed my entire life. 4 months later I was in a relationship. 5 or 6 months later I had moved and had a new job. Less than a year after that I was moving to New York. I also got back into therapy around that time and I’ve worked at it ever since, with a lot of hard earned progress.
I started watching ‘Nikita’ the other day. I’ve watched 11 episodes; there are 5 more before I’m caught up. I’m enjoying it. Parts of it are derivative of other shows (mostly ALIAS) but there are enough twists to keep it fresh, and 2 things I had major problems with were resolved in the last episode I watched.
I still haven’t finished ‘Son of a Witch’; I have about 60 pages left.
Mark left for a business trip yesterday; he took the train to Chicago and will return on Wednesday. I miss him.
February 26, 2011. Jeremy’s going away party. As of April of 2026, this was the last time I ever saw him in person.
We went to Jeremy’s going away party on Saturday; he’s moving to Israel. It was great to see him and several other friends (Tom, Jeff, Marc) and I met a cute guy (Richard) that gave me his phone #. And Mark got the number of a really cool girl (Nicole). Fun.
Assorted pictures of me with Michael; all of them are from January of 2011.
Yesterday Michael’s lies and the pain they have caused me came to a head. He wanted to know if he could come out here to Ann Arbor, just a few blocks from me, fuck some guy, shower and then fuck me. I thought he was going to ask if he could come visit with me so that hit hard. I knew he’d been lying to me for days. I knew he’d lied to me almost every day that I’d known him. I thought I could make it work but I can’t. I left him a message (I knew he wouldn’t answer while he was fucking the guy up the road) telling him all that I’d done to secure the truth and how I knew that he’d been lying to me the whole time…and I BEGGED HIM to never contact me again. No e-mails. No phone calls. I’m done. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to fuck him. I don’t want to think about him. I’ve let him treat me like crap for nearly 2 years now. He had moments of amazing generosity but that just made the more outlandishly painful moments hurt worse. He’s a master manipulater as more than one observer has told me in the past. And I can’t be around him and be at peace. I can’t find the right balance or crack the right code. I’ve given it my all. And I’m done. I admit defeat. And it feels good. It feels like the healthiest choice I’ve made in ages.
After Michael called me and I finally had the courage to leave him the message I felt afraid. I knew he was just blocks away and I didn’t want to see him. Mark wasn’t here. I called my friend Carrie but she was on a date. I called Mark and he suggested I go to Jeremy’s. I left the house and parked at Aut Bar. I deduced that all my family was at their church and I wanted to leave town so I went there. I sat with my family while the pastor droned on about stuff that I’m completely opposed to. It reminded me of my upbringing and how far I’ve come from that horrible environment – though there was some comfort to be found in that group of people who’s beliefs I have never truly shared. I went to see Janice’s new house afterwards. Then I came home. Watched some shows. And slept.
I slept very well. I’ve not had the urge to contact Michael at all. He left me a voicemail yesterday and I deleted it without listening to it. I deleted his photos from my facebook and I blocked his profiles on Facebook and Manhunt. I want zero contact with him. I’m keeping my phone off as much as possible. I’m contemplating changing my phone number. I just don’t want any contact with him because I’m afraid he’ll find someway to manipulate me in some way and I’m not ready to face that. Not yet. I know I don’t have that strength yet but I have enough to stay away from him. If I can do that for a month…a year…maybe I can see him and not hurt. It’s worked with other ex-bfs but none of them have hurt me to the degree that he has. If I could just avoid him forever that would be great. I doubt it will be easy…the gay community in MI is small and he’s slept with most of it. Thankfully he’s mostly a top and I’m mostly a bottom so that helps limit the contact I’m likely to have….
On another note…it’s come to my attention that I ingest a shocking amount of butter…so I’m trying to reduce my intake. I’d like to start drinking more tea as well as I have a cabinet FILLED with tea that’s just sitting there.
There will be a mini-Doctor Who episode on March 18th. It’s too early to know if it will fit within continuity, but it would be nice if it did. We’ll see.
Edit – April 2026 Notes: I never finished “Nikita”. I did finish “Son of a Witch” (several times). I never saw Jeremy in person again, although we sometimes chat online.
And although we had broken up several times in the two years that we had dated, this was the final time and I didn’t see Michael in person again until October 21, by which time I had healed considerably. I saw him a couple of times in 2012, and then briefly in 2021 but this was the end of seeing him on a regular basis.
Michael’s offer to fuck someone else and then join me after might have gone over differently if he’d only just been honest with me up to that point; this might even have been his attempt at doing so, but it was just too late. The years of lying were too much for my heart to take and I needed to call it quits. This was a difficult decision for me and was certainly not an easy one, but in the end it was the right call. Being with Michael taught me what I did and did not want in a relationship. I wanted honesty. I wanted to laugh. And I did not want anything resembling the lies and jealousy that Michael gave me.
Still, I sometimes wonder if I could have helped this relationship work if I had been able to express myself a little better, knowing what I know now. It’s hard to say. Probably not. But it’s a nice thought.
From the first moment… I’ve loved who you are when it’s only just us…
Nothing distracting the truth of the two of us.
Just our eyes locked across voids we can’t place…
The hurt and the kindness as it lights up your face…
The pain you keep hidden and the light you can’t see…
I like you best when you are with me.
Written by Jason Wright July 25, 2008
For Preston James Clayton, who inspired it.
May he rest in peace.
Comments from when I initially posted this on Facebook.
—- I met Preston online (where he lied and told me he was older), then ran into him on the streets of Ann Abor, where he was living at the time. On the streets I mean. I was shocked and appalled at his all too common situation; he said he’d been kicked out of his family’s home for being gay. I took him to get dinner because feeding him seemed a priority, which is ironic since I’ve often struggled to feed myself, which in retrospect, might be why he felt like a piece of me despite us never being that close. He wasn’t very clean at the time. I took him home with me so he could take a shower (alone) and I was going to let him stay on the couch for the night. He crawled into bed with me and tried to have sex with me, but I gently explained that I cared about him and that I couldn’t be his lover. I think he was upset about this for awhile, but I would sometimes run into him and his friends at a gay bar or on the streets and we’d talk. He eventually got an apartment and invited me to their housewarming party and I stopped by but I could tell he was going to try hook up with me and I didn’t want that so I said my goodbyes and left. That may have been the last time I saw him. He died of a drug overdose sometime between July 14 & 17 of 2010. I believe he was 18 when he died but my memories of this time are a blur and also, I was never very well informed on his life. I just knew it was sad.
When I was 17 years old I met a woman in a hospital room who told me she’d played pool with Minnesota Fats. She told me about her ties to the mafia & how I had to stay alive so I could wander down New York streets that I now feel guilty for forgetting.
I never forgot her, or her son, who had once played with Earth, Wind & Fire. Her son approached me at the mall – happy to see me alive; his mother had not been so lucky.
Now I sit at pool tables with a drink, watching others play what the hospital woman once told me was a wonderful way to unwind; a way to forget & remember & lose yourself with no need of drugs, razors, or even friends. I sit here & watch the players & have my drink, as I unwind & forget & remember the woman & her last breath of kindness.
Here where the sharks are people of every smile & shade of sorrow, I observe & am grateful to be alive & to witness what no one else can understand about the bald goth boy in the corner who smiles at the actions of strangers; not for the sharks themselves, though they do amuse me, but the game itself. It’s beautiful really.
Only last night I watched a great white demon of a man… a shark with the face of a god, who was stone cold seriousness while aiming for a shot… You should have seen this slip of perfection animating around the table – with nothing but the outcome in mind. In between shots he was all candy laughter smiles & warm blooded affections.
He said I was: Cute. Deep. Intriguing. Weird was good.
Of course people come looking for sharks here all the time; they come to capture, ensnare; be devoured… the sharks know this and are not impressed.
Maybe I’m a mystery to them because I’m not swimming in these waters out of lust, boredom or hunger… I’m simply swimming in the deep end of an ocean, admiring something about sharks that no one can touch. The momentous emotions that pass between unblinking eyes & unflinching hands; between moisture flecked lips & steadfast dancers legs. A swipe of tongue… A flicker… A breath… The glint of light overhead on numbered spheres as they clash, glimmer, escape solidarity – through the single deadly thrust of the pool shark’s decisive wooden lance.
The ghost of a shark lady smiles every time that they play & then I can smile too, while remembering her with me – as the world falls away.
Written By Jason Wright August 28, 2002
For Dug “the great white demon” – & in memory of the hospital woman.
