Surprise

You think that you were hurting me,

but I promise I was letting you.

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The tattooed and tortured

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Why do we tattoo our bodies?
Is it in the name of art, or because we feel that we have to?
I think that, like love, it hurts us but we want more;
To feel the pain and let it settle enough to scar beautifully onto us
To showcase the signs of torture in us.
Our own personal warrior paint.

Then again, when I look at my tattoos, I don’t see art. I see experiences. Bad times, or good times with bad people. I let it set in, I guess in a way it’s me never letting go of her, that time, or that feeling.

What do your tattoos mean?

Something feels different now.

Is there a way to find my inner peace,

without completely depleting my fire?

To calm the storm that brews inside me,

without burning out the melancholy that

keeps me writing?

I look into the mirror, and I see an extraterrestrial right now. I can finally admit that I know nothing about the world around me, and although I am frightened I am enlightened. Meditation suddenly makes sense, Yoga no longer seems boring, and the path to happiness is somewhat forming. I see it, in front of me.

Yet,

I am stubborn while holding on to the unidentified anger that lingers inside of me. It is like an unhealthy co-dependent relationship, not so much like with a lover; more like an abusive parent that you love too much to let go of. Afraid that if they are gone, you will lose a part of your identity. If I am no longer angry, and the happiness never comes…then what happens to me?

Prayers

Spirituality is our birthmother.

Prayer is our phone call home to soothe the chaos.

I am not the most religious person. I don’t go to church, I don’t live my life by the bible, but I pray. I pray for the sins that I know to commit, and the ones that I don’t. To be forgiven, not really for the opportunity to spend my afterlife with the Maker…not even sure if I believe in that, but for the forgiveness of my ignorance in case I am wrong. This world I live in is tainted. I pray that it doesn’t take me down with it, that I am not a victim to my surroundings, and that bad times come and go like minutes on the clock.

I pray that my mistakes don’t come to haunt me. That I don’t let go of something that is supposed to be in my life forever, that I am learning all of the right things, and not assuming all of the wrong things.

Tonight, I pray that God continues to bless me…His flawed child, and in return I will continue to walk in the path he leads me, whether I understand it or not.

Straight Offended

Why did I get so offended when she called me straight?

My reaction was immediate, and nothing else that she’d said resonated with me…how could someone I’ve been so intimate with lower me down to something so far away from who I truly was?

I guess the only answer that I could come up with was that we (us homosexuals) spend all of our lives proving that we are indeed just as important, normal, and capable of love as heterosexuals, that we deserve to be acknowledged and are able to have normal friendships and relationships with other people without it being lowered into some sort of seedy pornographic and hetero idea for a tv sitcom, that me being compared to something that I simply am not stung just a bit more than any other name I’ve ever been called.

Hope that you read this and understand.