The Sweet Spot

Sometimes I wonder if a castration would just be easier.

A chemical one, like they give sex offenders,

perhaps, in lieu of all that mess.

Or a lock box...what did they call them?

Chastity belt. For a man.

Or just go in for neuro-surgery and

cut out the response centers in the brain.

At this point, it's like an appendix or a little toe;

it serves no purpose, so what're we keeping it around for.

Really and truly, I am Over It.

Gone beyond the mountain and come back again.

Done.

It has been so incredibly long since I have

known the touch of another,

and I think everything down there has gone Turtle;

it has slid back in, honey.

"You're not gonna pay me any mind? Screw you, I'm leaving

this party alone!"

Kiss it; don't miss it.

Some things increase the pain;

like, just for instance, the fact that my decrepit 75 year old

mother is knocking boots more often than me.

Yes, I wish I didn't know either, trust me.

(shudder)

I think if I saw a live-and-in-person naked man

at this point, I would do one or all of the following;

A. Fall out laughing

B. Pass out from fear and confusion

C. Stand gaping and drooling, unable to interact

D. Start screaming hysterically

I shit you not; I am a fagging basket case

at this point. I am so socially gummed up now,

so out of practice even talking to other guys,

certainly out of habit of knowing any gay men...

it has become a cluster fuck.

Or, a cluster non-fuck, as the case may be.

I know that pornography has kind of

ruined the whole sexual connection of the

average workaday world, but really, I prefer

porn with its pristine and unrealistic images,

it's ability to be 'muted' on a whim, the

ability to lay where you're at when through and

not have to entertain (or rate, or listen to)

another person.

No 'when are we getting together again' horseshit.

No obligation.

No feelings.

No unexpectedness or pain.

Maybe I'll hang on to my junk for the near future.

It's one of those things; not easily rectified once

done, so perhaps some discretion is in order.

Like anything else; the minute you get rid of it,

that's exactly when you'll find a need for it.

Damn.

The Old Grey Mare

I don't want to feel this way any more

I want an end to fear

and worry

and judgment

and physical pain

and lack of connection

and inadequacy

and criticism

and lack of acknowledgment

Always lacking

I am steeped in egotism

and worthlessness,

simultaneously

My world collapses

upon one morning of

absent phone messages

and lonely self-obsession

and empty e-mail accounts

I push away and fear connection

while damning the lack thereof

I desire intimacy yet follow

where no bread crumbs lead.

Loneliness as a Wake-Up Call

There's no one calling

'cuz there's no one interested

and that's okay;

Truth hurts but truth rules

There's no one visiting

'cuz I am insignificant

and that's just fact

(we are all flies in the ointment)

No one holds my hand

'cuz I'm meant to do so myself--

or be content without--

and haven't yet learned how

I'm so concerned with others'

opinions and needs that I neglect

my own...

My bad, to be sure

My desperate need for approval,

my desire to be noticed,

my wish to have impact and be worthy,

they crowd out rational thinking

My loneliness is due to

my own skewed view,

placing others' importance

over my delicate hue

I have shirked my responsibility

to me