After just one day, you have a hold in my head

I want you here with me, but you’re gone instead

How could I be such a fool, to fall in love with a stranger

I tame my mind, but all that lurks is a danger


A danger to think

A danger to touch

A danger to drink

A danger too much


I love you so much, if only you knew

That my heart beats for you, and only for you

Heliocentric around you, but I go unnoticed

I saw you more than one time, but you were too focused

On life, on love, but I wasn’t your type

I wish I could change her,

but there’s just too much danger


A danger to think

A danger to touch

A danger to drink

A danger too much


Apart from that one day we’ve never spoken

Since that one day I’ve been heartbroken

My heart it longs for a life another

But I’m not your type, so why do I bother

For there you are, right across the hall

I scream out your name my voice, it falls

Into a silence that will not waiver

Since that one day, I’ve lived in danger


A danger to think

A danger to touch

A danger to drink

A danger too much


He came back.

The person I fell in love with found his way inside my head…again.  I can’t stand it.  I hate waking up and the first thing I think about is him.  I feel myself lying next to him as he sleeps, breathing slowly.  His tan skin is unblemished, perfect all throughout.  He looks as if he is meant to be exactly where he is.  All I do is watch him sleep.  Knowing that in a couple of minutes I am going to get up and make him breakfast and brew his coffee.  After which, I will bring it all to him in bed for he deserves nothing less.

But instead I know that in a couple of minutes, I will get up and the picture perfect morning will become but a distant memory created by my head.  I would say it isn’t fair, but I have to focus on what I have instead of what I don’t.


At least that’s what they say.

The Sellout

As I’m relaxing in this hotel bed, I felt it compulsory to write about something I learned within the past couple of days.

I’m here with my best friend while he sells antiques at a show.  His girlfriend and I have become pretty good friends as she knows things not even my best friend knows.

We went to lunch and we started to talk about my upbringing.  It all started when I told her that I don’t tell me parents I love them.  I do love them, don’t get me wrong, but when they say they love me at the end of a phone conversation, I respond with, “Ok, bye.”  It’s not in my nature to say, “I love you.”  This led to her asking me about how I was brought up.

I assured her that I love my parents.  They have given me everything I have ever asked for.  They are, in my opinion, the parents I could have ever asked for.


My entire life I grew up with them telling me that gay people are sick.  That something is wrong with their brain.  They aren’t normal. A couple of weeks ago my mother asked me if I was “normal”.  She asked me why I never had a girlfriend and stated it isn’t normal for someone my age never have been in a relationship.  Normal.  Normal. Normal.

My father, a while back, asked me if I liked women to which I lied.  He then assured me that, if I needed help, he would find a psychologist.  In social gatherings, my parents, family, and family friends would state how sorry they were when someone they knew came out of the closet.

I don’t think I’ve ever thought of how this has affected me.  It’s one of those things you don’t know is in your head, but dictates what you think and how you act with others.  It’s amazing that at the age of 23 there are things I don’t know about myself.  Have my parents damaged my psyche?  If so, can it be repaired?

One thing is for sure: I cannot tell them.  I can’t bring that dishonor upon my family.  I can’t let their friends have pity for them.  Did you hear?  Their son is gay.  Poor thing.  Even worse, I can’t have my dad disown me.  As I can’t support myself yet, my parents pay for all of my bills: car, phone, food, insurance, etc.  They NEVER hold it against me, but I have no other option.

For the sake of my family, I need to keep this hidden.  For my sake, I need to keep this hidden.  The world is better without them knowing.  My world is better without them knowing.

A life of comfort and luxury is worth the psychological damage I’m inflicting on myself.




The Game I Play

Let me start off by saying, yes, I am thirsty.  As thirsty as they come.  Seeing as how I have never been in a relationship, let alone had sex, my expectations for both are sky high.  These expectations are inspired from relationships I have witnessed firsthand and from those seen in the media.  I know, it’s not the best way to form opinions, but what else do I have?

Because my imagination has no comparative reality, it automatically leaps to the farthest extreme possible.  It creates a reality of its own.  Forming a world and filling the void with the faces I pass by every day.  Not all faces, just some.  In other words, my mind creates a game.

The game is essentially choosing who I would have sex with based solely off their appearance.  Shallow, I know, but I’ve reached the conclusion that I’m hopeless.

For example, as I write this, a guy is walking around trying to find a room or something.  Medium height, very tan, robust chin.  Yes.  Call me, beep me if you wanna reach me.

Earlier today, there were two other guys I walked by that I would could see myself having relations with.  There’s a scale, you see.  The people I would probably be attracted to once we got to know each other, those I would sleep with after meeting at a bar or something, and those that can take me, no questions asked.   The last of the three seldom comes along,  but when they do…anytime, anywhere.

Am I the only one that does this?  Picks and chooses people I would sleep with given the chance.  Not to have casual sex, per se.  But, like, “Damn, if I had the opportunity I would grab it with both hands 😉

3 weeks…

As some of you may know, I plan on applying to PA school.  For that, however, you need a certain amount of direct patient care hours.  And by a certain amount, I mean a minimum of 1000.  (Yes, that’s three zeros.)

Since my degree in IDS and minor in statistics does not allow me to treat patients, I am finishing EMT school.  3 weeks left.  3 weeks until I can get a job, either in an ambulance or a hospital (I’m hoping for a hospital), and stop relying on my parents to pay for literally EVERYTHING.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, I just want to be independent for the first time in my life.

I have 2 more exams, one trauma scenario, and 2 clinicals left until I graduate.  My penultimate clinical is tomorrow, which I’m dreading.  Field shifts (those done on an ambulance) are 12 hours long.  At a moment’s notice, you need to be on the ambulance and headed to the patient, sometimes not knowing what the chief complaint is.  This is seldom the case, however.  In all honestly, I just don’t want to wake up early and have my brain working for 12 full hours.

It took me 5 years to graduate college, which I don’t regret as I ended up graduating Magna Cum Laude (yes, I’m stuntin’).  After all that time, I have to complete a 3 month program and read 42 chapters on emergency medical treatment.

As Adele croons on her freshman album, 19, “Boy, I’m tired…”

Although the next three weeks can be considered the climax of the program, I know the calm after the storm is just beyond the horizon.  I can see the sun touch the edge of ocean…I just need to make sure my ship doesn’t buckle before I reach it.  Only three weeks are between me and life on my own.

Although I eagerly await the dawn of August, I can’t help but wonder exactly what lies ahead.  Happiness?  Health?