Lick Me Up Baby

Posted FEBRUARY 14

I was given a writing prompt today (Phthonos_heart said I should write it); I didn't really understand why it was given to me at first. I started writing it anyway and then it all came together in my head.

WRITING PROMPT: don't pray the gay away, just pray it in

POEM: did you hear the rumor that joshua and thomas made out? it was over summer break, at the skateboard park, the air beesting-heavy and churning with heat. they hid together in the shadows of the tallest ramp. joshua offered his scraped, bloody palms to thomas, and thomas pressed his mouth to both wounds carefully. they were not thinking about how we were circling around them, how we might have discovered them at any moment, with hands under shirts, with lips everywhere. i didn't find out about it until later, but when it happened one of them must've choked out "God", because on that day, for just one moment, i could've sworn i heard the faintest begginings of music-

It was the first poem I ever shared with Phthonos_heart. The first time I used a writing prompt someone sent me. It was lovely to see his reaction to it. He thought it was almost magical. Almost. It was as if he knew that I based it on real people. That he knew they actually exist...

BUT... he can't possibly know. He lives somewhere else in the world. Somewhere not here.

I've always been told that I'm good with poetry. Gay, intimate ones. Ones to do with love and chaos. The things I guess my world is made of.

My mom doesn't like my poetry... or my job. The things I write never get appreciated in my household. Then again, I only have mom and she's off giving all our money to the dirty hypocritical churches in our area. Buying her heaven I guess. I got kicked out of our church though (the one she gives money to) for writing this:

CONFESSION TITLE: lovesick boy prays

POEM: Forgive me, Father, for I have dreamed tonight. In my dream I took the boy into my mouth and his skin was warm, not like a viper lyin' by the river but like the arrow right after you let go. I had his heart in my mouth, tasted the wet arteries, the sinewy red muscles, the sharpness of his blood. I can't stop dreamin' about devourin' him, Father. Ain't never even touched him outside my head, so how is it  we can still be homesick for this feeling we don't yet know? I want a life without fangs or claws. If this is love, make it song-soft, make it a valley full of sparrow feathers, or else someplace where we can hallow ourselves in poisonless light

Churches don't take kind to confessions like that or poems like this:

POEM TITLE: blond boy

POEM: the blond boy in the red trunks is holding your head under water because he is trying to kill you
        And you deserve it, you do, and you know this,
     And you are ready to die in this swimming pool
Because you wanted to touch his hands and his lips and this means
                   Your life is over anyway.
You're in eighth grade. You know these things.
You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do
            long division,
And you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless
       He keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn't do,
because you are weak and hollow and it doesn't matter anymore.

He told me he was going to baptise me. I was just a young idiot.

There are more poems. All with some truth to them. I'll start sharing them with you strangers. I'll let strangers like you see the depths of a lovesick boy.

And it's sad really; that I choose to share such a thing with you guys on a romantic day in which I'm lucky to just end up with a one-night stand. And I mean LUCKY. Normally the kinks scare them away before we even start. I have to choose the right club for anything to happen.

Maybe if I get lucky you guys will too. I get sex and you might have a nice story to read...

You perverts. Absolute perverts I swear. Half of you probably started please yourself when you saw the picture of Thomas and Joshua kissing. You should be absolutely ashamed.

I'll still share though. There might even be pictures. Imagine that; A picture of me tied to a bed, a dildo in me, a vibrator on my dick, nipple clamps, a man pushing the dildo further up my ass or something simple like me sucking off a man at an angle where you can't see anything. Maybe you'll get no picture. Just your imagination. Maybe you'll get nothing at all because I scared away your story or because I changed my mind and don't want to share.

Signed: screaming_roses