Tag: Poetry: 2026

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TENTATIVE

Both sides of the fence
can be laughing and taunting.

But there is a difference
tween having and wanting.

The last first time
that he was with me.

Our past was a crime
and we wished to be free.

For we were both haunted
the last time we met.

We were both wanted
and both knew regret.

In a dream of a cousin
who does not exist.

A dream of a cousin
who I so longed to kiss.

A dreamed of reunion
between him and I.

A dream of confusion
and a dreamed of goodbye.

He was older than me
but younger than him.

He was bolder than me
in that summer of sin.

Yet I wanted more
than what he was giving;
down to my core
but I was forgiving…

The hug by the road
which was our goodbye.

The hug as time slowed
and we wanted to try.

Lost in inference:
teens passing a haunting…

Star-crossed indifference
tween having and wanting.

Written by Jason Wright
November 9, 2026

Based on the dream I woke from. There was a boy, a cousin. I thought he was much older than me but learned he was only 1 year older. In the dream he was based on a cousin who is actually younger than me, but I always think of him as being older now, for some reason, which probably explains the dream discrepancy. He was blonde and a fellow student; he had nice teeth and though he was sad he always seemed to be smiling. I felt he was lying about what he truly wanted, which echoed my youth when I encountered several others just like him. I thought he might be stealing something from me; a video of some type of pornography. I wanted to kiss him goodbye but he was trying not to do that. And when we hugged goodbye by the side of Mooreville Road (which is where I grew up and which in the dream had a lot more flat empty surface than in reality) our bodies were the same height, and it was like we could (or I could) feel both our bodies completely pressed together, like seeing an illustration of our insides – but not an accurate portrait, a kind of double image surrealism which showed me fire, blood, desire and passion – our circulatory systems lit up in a stunning animated painting.

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ALL OF THE WORDS

Sean had arrived
as a sensitive star.

Sean still alive
with negative charge
drawn and then nourished
with the dawn of the moon…
of Sean in the forest
and then Sean in his room.

Bringing Sean home
before giving him head,
Singing of bones
and forgiving the dead
who imbibe from my screams
and take form from my dread,
who survive in my dreams
though they can’t warm my bed…
who want me with

all of the words

to be spread –
who haunt me with

all of the words

that we said

Written By Jason Wright
October 27, 2026

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The Tides of Imagined Memories

Tied to the tides
and the sound of his voice,

All of them guides
who each made a choice,

I blink and again
they have this Hawaiian…

I think of them:
Jen and Travis and Ryan.

I think of Savannah…
I think of the Prince…

Cigars from Havannah
and flowering quince…

I think of the woman
who showed me the tides;
who opened me up
as I licked her insides…
as I closed eyelids…
The way that it struck me!

The week that I hid
so that Travis could fuck me.

All tied to the tides
and insights that incited…
which unites and divides us
and keeps us excited.

Written by Jason Wright
October 26, 2026

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My Ketamine Love

In the chains of delight
in the troupe of the duped…

In the plains of deep white
in this group with no group…

As the dopamine grows
to the heights of the slain…

As the ketamine flows
and ignites in his brain…

It is then that I write
and listen
and cry…

As again with last rites
we christen goodbye.

Written by Jason Wright
October 9, 2026

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I Know What You Are

I dream about you
and the way that you taste.

You are the MONSTER
who I can’t replace.

A minister fired
for dealing desire.

Sinister plyer
of feelings inspired.

The singular choir
who sings and then shoves me.

You are the spire
that towers above me.

You are the fire
which quells and then gloves me.

You are the liar
who tells me he loves me.

Written by Jason Wright
September 30, 2026

For Michael

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My Pale Skin Condition

Part I: What Lies

A blazed misbehaving
I am wrought (from behind).

And I’m always craving
in thought and in mind.

Insane sound of drums
as the thrusts leave me burned.

The pain always comes
as the lust is returned.

And if pleasure deserts me
then why should I screw?

If pleasure does hurt me
then what should I do?

If skin is conditioned
to make one afraid…

Then I am positioned
to make me unmade…

Yet if my betrayal
by my circumstance
is meant by portrayal
to cleave from the dance
then I will choose pain
for as long as I dare…

In this game of chance
I’ll try not to be scared.

Part II: The Truth Beneath

My primary protective barrier
has been decimated by genetic anomalies.

Color bleeding out of me slowly,
imperceptibly,
across time and place.

My Dorian Gray reflection
is just as exorbitant, just as damned,
if far less immortal (and even less fictional),
leaving me to ponder quotes by Natalie Merchant
& various Hellraiser sequels.

My pale epidermis keeps people
from noticing what is apparent
in other darker shades
of the same ravaged organ…
I am understandably less daunted
by my own nearly invisible changes in tone.

It is the texture which fascinates
and at times, terrifies me.

The rough skin made smooth, taut,
and somehow stretched to the point of near tearing,
like a molting humanoid creature,
unable to break free…
making friction far more painful
than anyone would ever guess
when merely glancing
at my beautifully camouflaged exterior.

The secret stroking of flames and flesh
combined in the perfect union of sex
and of power: that harmony, that balance
forever disrupted, imbalanced
by vicious circumstances I’ve never dared express,
and which have never been freely mirrored
to my careful, guarded attention.

The youth that so many gratefully mistake me for
is a cruel trick of tegument
which grants me favor
at a terrible cost that I,
who have lived with it long enough to have surely known better,
am only just beginning to comprehend.

Written by Jason Wright
September 11, 2026

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The Secrets of Lust

Just out of sight –
he’s dismissed there because
He’s just not my type
but then what if he was?

I stare
puzzled
grim
with a girl by his side.

Bare muscled slim
with a pearl to confide:

Be what you are
and dare to admit it.

Under the stars
you stand there acquitted.

Systemic lies
are why we can’t trust…

The wisdom of sighs…
The secrets of lust.

Written by Jason Wright
August 20, 2026

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The Monster

When we met
you set on fire
as you kissed me
from above.

When we met
you were a liar
and convinced me
of your love.

When I slept
with that imposter
he was always
underhand.

When we met
you were a monster
but I didn’t
understand.

I couldn’t see
the truth
inside deceptive
aching flame.

You couldn’t keep
the proof
of my perspective
from your shame.

A shame
that only blizzards slayed
me tragic
in your eyes.

Like a game
that only wizards play
your magic
was a lie.

I don’t regret
the level
where you spurned me
with your spell.

When we met
you were the devil
and you burned me
with your Hell.

The fire
left its mark
and I’m now
forever changed.

And required
hefty spark
has left me now
deranged.

For now
I understand
but I’m haunted
by the squandered.

For now
you are a man
but I only want
the monster.

Written by Jason Wright
August 8, 2026

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Divisional Shadows

The divisional shadows
of the math we inspire;
derision of prose
by the wrath of desire
has led me astray
like a pawn to your laughter:
send me away
at the dawn of disaster.

Cock crows the call of
this glamor forbidden,
the clock on the wall
is a camera I’ve hidden,
and sight swarms the notion
of friendly portrayal
as light forms the motion
intent on betrayal.

My eyes disappear
as my brain overloads.

Beneath chandelier
I feel drained and exposed.

The world starts to shimmer;
I head to the gallows…

As glimmer of hope
is divided by shadows.

Written by Jason Wright
August 9, 2026

Inspired by a particularly kinky dream I had. It’s also an expanded fragment which began when I started typing words onto a collage for this site:

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The Masochist’s Dream

What I want
on BIRTH / DAY
is to see you undone.

To find worth in fray…
To be there when you cum.

Spending our pleasure
in treasured foul play.

The unending show of
pretending to stray.

In opera of trust
to be played by the playful…

The opera of lust
left us splayed and unfaithful.

These schemes of seduction;
a librettist’s triad…

My dreams of destruction
are the wettest I’ve had.

And as we conspire:
breathless / delusional.

Things I desire:
senselessly usual.

I am your boy
when the handsome and beautiful
leave me destroyed
when you are unsuitable.

Always pretending
to be my sad savior.

A catechist’s cream
is just as astrictory.

Always depending
on their bad behavior…

The masochist’s dream
is so contradictory.

Written by Jason Wright
August 8, 2026

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