For a Few Hours

That’s what the message said
and suddenly I remember what it was like
to really miss
playfully biting his lips
when we’d kiss:
a ghost
of a memory
of a forgotten desire.

I met him online in late 2007;
just a hookup that attempted to be more,
and failed
because of piss poor timing.
Like a perpetual tryst
with delusions of grandeur;
genuine emotion
without proper context
or common sense.

His lips, his smile, eyes, tears,
were all exquisite.

His meaty cock was thick
and heavy,
and always filled my unprotected insides
before shooting down my throat.
Invariably he would ride my tongue,
feeding my hungry need
while I nursed my own aching pleasure.

I was
for once,
blissfully uninterested in anything
more than friendship and kinky sex.

And while months of Doctor Who,
Meeting his mum at hospital,
his friends (some of whom were my friends),
and New Year’s Eve party where we met his future husband(!)
were all appreciated and are remembered fondly…
his confession of love ripped me in half
and tore us apart.

He fell,
was crushed,
and though I eventually followed,
it was too late to save either of us.

At the time,
I thought this a tragedy,
but in light of later revelations
it seems the better of several options,
despite the pain we caused one another
at the time.

In the end
I loved him and
he loved me…

But some affairs are just that…
Not to last or to be.

Back in the present
I’m in Hell’s Kitchen
and his plane is coming in for a landing in Newark.

C to Penn Station,
NJ Transit round trip tickets are $25.00
but waiting to board
the call comes:
an earlier flight than expected
and I’ll have just missed him again.

Refund lady is nice;
I transfer from C to A at 42nd
and this feels natural
and normal
and before I know it I’m back in The Heights.

On the train I listen to “Gods and Monsters” on repeat
and Lana Del Rey sings about lost innocence.

He thanks me when I get home; he says:
“It means a lot that you dropped everything to give it a shot.”

Only just like our relationship
we suffer from piss poor timing
and we keep just missing each other.

But you know what?

The attempt was fun,
and totally worth it.

Even though we failed.

Even though we never fit together in life
as well as we did in bed
or in friendship.

Even if in the grand scheme of things
we only managed to last
for a few precious hours.

Written by Jason Wright
June 17, 2015

For Michael

Walking Away

Some days are harder than others.

Some days his voice is so loud
that I can’t hear or feel anything else
without turning myself inside out.

It never lasts for more than an hour or two
(often times less than that)
but in that time he makes sure
that I have his undivided attention.

This can be problematic
and disorienting
when I’m in public.

Our communication can never last for long
because I don’t have the reserves.
It’s too all consuming to sustain itself.

He doesn’t like to be ignored
and I don’t do it on purpose
but it takes a lot of energy
and skills that I’ve not yet completely developed.

And paying attention to him can be dangerous,
but so can ignoring him. Clearly.

Sometimes he wants me to throw all of my food away.
He’s jealous, I think.

Some weekends, everything I plan on
falls apart because of him.

The way that I’m falling apart,
but seldom admit.

Every day that I don’t cut is a victory.
I know this.
But it doesn’t feel like the truth.
It feels like cowardice.

If I could just cut him out of me…
I’d be dead.

That’s the problem.

I think I’m beginning to hate him.
Hate myself.
Because he’s keeping me prisoner.
I missed the party on Friday,
the opera on Saturday,
the walk in the park today
because of his need…
and my aversion.

These feel like failures or defeats,
but is it a failure if it keeps you alive?

I try to talk myself through it
but my feelings are complicated
and often contradictory.

I don’t think anyone around me understands
and why should they?
It hurts being so alone though.

It’s just him and me.
Like when she abandoned me. Us.

There are people that love me,
which is incredible really,
because there’s a big piece of myself that’s missing.

He’s completely disconnected from me
and when that connection is made
the spark of that moment is blinding…
but nobody gets to see it but me.

Or maybe I’m wrong and people do see him,
or the absence of him?

Maybe people love me because of him.

I don’t really know.

All I know is that he’s closer to me today
than he usually is
and I’m alone
and I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Time to go for a walk.

Written by Jason Wright
March 29, 2015

40

Ten years ago today I was at Pizza House
with friends and family and coworkers.

I still have the clothes I wore that day
and they still look new.

My reflection scares me a little bit.

Funny, I know.

But what I mean is that I feel like I look the same as I did then.

I should be grateful for that…and I am,
but it’s part of what makes me feel trapped.

In the past,
all those years ago,
I got stuck.

I’ve tried moving forward
with some amount of success
but eventually the anchor
prevented me from moving
anywhere beyond a certain point.

So I’ve been going back in time to free myself…
because nobody else will ever (could ever) save me.

It’s an appealing image.

The victim as cross dimensional savior of self.

Or maybe I’m just as crazy as he was
because I’m losing it in my old age.

Written by Jason Wright
August 12, 2014

I Hear You

Most of the time
I know how to work it,

And I’m quite disconnected
from my own broken circuit,

But then something sparks
and I’m lost in reflection,

I’m drowning in sound
and rapt by connection.

Those episodes scare me
and I’ve sought to avoid them,

But running from strife
has left my heart frozen,

And the path of my life
is melting my fear…

Allowing his voice to be heard
and quite clear.

He’s the part of me;
wounded and starving and aching.

He’s the one we forgot
when our hearts were done breaking.

He’s the one who kept screaming
though no one was listening.

He’s the one shedding tears
that on my face are glistening.

And I fight for him now
as he’s fought for me.

I fight for his rights
that we both may be free…

The battle is coming,
has happened,
occurred…

And he knows satisfaction because he is heard,

And we fight now together
to achieve correlation,

That was taken when life
divorced integration.

Written by Jason Wright
June 19, 2014

For him and for me.

It’s a start. I think I make it sound a bit Disney when it’s really very dangerous. I’m always on the verge of something lately. Some of it is wonderful. Some of it is horrible. And all of it is necessary.

B.I.O. of a Nameless Lover:

I met you…
millennial,
and we were so young.

You made me alive
and then left me stung.

I loved you for years
then we drifted apart.

Time heals all wounds
yet ripped us apart.

In twenty-eleven,
long after we met…

We randomly crashed
and then cashed in our debt…

But the lust that we shared
and for years we had held…

Was long past it’s date;
by a kiss we were quelled.

Impunity spared us
in memories wasted…

Like missed opportunity:
that’s how you tasted…

In October
bedroom / shower / stairwell…

First time we fucked
was bitter farewell…

Bitter and sweet
and fragrant and gleaming…

Our lust disappointed
compared to our dreaming…

Although we played
quite well in our fashion…

Eleven years time
had drained us of passion.

It was love and was sex
and was brutal and sadness…

Was whatever survived
and revived from our ashes.

And we never talked again
after that day…

You turned to leave
and then I moved away…

Now we never speak
for our love has been strictured…

And all I have left
now of us is our pictures.

Written by Jason Wright
October 28, 2013

For Anonymous: You know who you are and that’s quite enough.

UNBECOMING:

I don’t know who I am anymore.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
Perhaps I never knew.

I know I’m alive when we are together
but when I’m alone that’s not true.

I’m struggling and flailing
just learning to breathe
searching for clues and for answers.

The truth is I’ve died now
(so many times now)
Perhaps all that’s left are the ashes.

I’m strong and I’m brave
(at least that’s what friends say)
I exist so perhaps they are right.

But the pain that I feel
as I struggle to heal
overwhelms me until I must write.

The nightmares are cursed
but the visions are worse
because comforting lies can still soothe me.

And I fear I won’t ask..
How long can dreams last?
One day my dreams might consume me.

But I don’t want to leave
so I struggle to breathe
and I reach out to family and friends.

I try to learn skills
but the timing still kills
and I know that everything ends.

Written by Jason Wright
July 19, 2013

THE COWBOY AND THE PRIEST

The priest and the cowboy
who murdered each other…

Killed with a kindness
they both thought was clever…

Zombie decay
decomposed into lust…

With nightmares more deadly
than panic or trust…

For shades hide between
what is real and is right…

They look so alive
when seen in the light…

But night time,
it blossoms them into the dying…

They can’t understand
why they’re bleeding and crying…

They can’t understand
why their pain has increased…

And they won’t find the truth
until pain is let loose…

And life can infuse
both cowboy and priest.

Written by Jason Wright
NOVEMBER 5, 2011

On our first Halloween together, Aaron dressed as a cowboy and I dressed as a priest. We went to a party and I got a call from Sean Mobley who let me know that his father had died. The party had a karaoke portion and I saw “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan in honor of Ted.

THE OPPOSITE OF LOVE

You were “the one”,
that’s what my friends said…

But you were a lie
and a ghost in my head…

You’re so insecure
and you struck while I slept…

You made me afraid
it was my fault I wept…

But my life is changing;
Believe me…
It’s true.

You can’t hurt me now:
I’m indifferent to you.

Written By Jason Wright
OCTOBER 27, 2011


For Michael Slaughter –

HATRED ESCAPE

I’m caught in a trap
and I need to get out…

I need to break free
of my own sense of doubt…

I need to believe
that I can survive…

I can’t let myself
be buried alive…

I hate what has happened
to childhood me…

I hate that I listened
to Father’s dark plea…

I hate that the Michael
I knew never stayed…

I hate that my brother
has left me betrayed…

I hate that I hate this;
it just gives me grief…

I hate that my sickness
has trumped my belief…

But I love those I’ve known
and I can’t just desert them…

So I try to keep breathing
and try not to hurt them.

Written by Jason Wright
OCTOBER 27, 2011

For Jason

FOUR DAYS ENCHANTED

Compassion is given;
mistaken for lies…

A powerful weapon,
a question…but why?

Why play such games?
Why smile and sing?

Experience teaches
to not trust such things.

Yet I love the way that he sings a smile
and the way that his intellect reconciles…
Logic,
Success,
And things never guessed…
Except in his eyes
filled with things unexpressed.

He can sing,
He can act,
And in short, do it all…

Yet he doesn’t attack
or make you feel small…

His voice is a gift
you’re lucky to receive…

And the passion he carries
makes you grieve & believe…

Yet the power held there
is most naked and strong…

When he whispers against you
while held in your arms:

In that muted darkness
when he speaks to just you…

It’s then that you see that
his power is true.

It’s not just a game
though it isn’t a promise…

Things don’t always last
when whispered in darkness…

Yet I want to know more
and that’s really quite rare…

And I guess I just want him
to know that I care.

Written By Jason Wright
October 25, 2011

For Aaron Sanko

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