Phase

I do not know when it started,
or how or why.
All I know is that it did,
And that it is now a phase,
A terrible reoccurrence,
doomed to repeat itself,
like some false history.

He comes and goes,
or merely ducks underneath,
behind and hides,
in clouds or grey, and clouds of white.
During the day nothing more that a blur,
But on a clear night he emerges.
A fresh and renewed.

Smiles at the simple discomfort he brings,
Laughs at the awkward conversations we share,
Avoids the closeness of hands,
Moves away from kisses on cheeks.
As sudden as he arrives,
Like the constant irregularity of the cycle,
He is gone, tucked under the comforting,
masses of cotton clouds.
And just like that, he departed.  

“He understands me and my art, and loves both.”

"It would be unfair to expect other people to be as remarkable as oneself."

"What a sassy bitch," I mentally said as I read the line, reading Oscar Wilde on the way to a Shakespearean play, man I was cultured as fuck. In reality, it took an exponential amount of metal acrobatics to grasp the depth of his analysis, the nuances of every adjective, noun and verb. I usually retire in defeat after no more than 10 pages, and continued the slow progress with a new zest each time, an appreciation I have formed not out of curiosity, but the wanting to educate myself to understand the ideologies of aestheticism. But, the thing that did intrigue me, obviously, as if I were a nosy, journalist, or simply just a mere gossip queen, was his personal life, and how it seemed to be more vibrant and exciting than his literature itself.

He seemed completely infatuated with Lord Alfred Douglas, or "Bosie". (I do not intend to bore you with many of the details, you can find our, independently, merely by typing in either one of their names into any search engine of your preference.) I simply have chosen to look at their relationship, the truths and the ugliness as a whole.

All throughout their  relationship, which was filled with terrible fights and the constant judgement, persecution of and from the people around them, Oscar was forever infatuated with this man. Their relationship is worthy of the books that were written, for them, about them, because indeed their lives were exciting and I would argue stand among the the likes of tragic plays, such as Antony and Cleopatra, only played out on a scale much smaller, but in no way lesser, in the abundance of emotional turmoil. The letters written in his powerfully, romantic style, could be seen as a hyperbolic, but the title I have choose, was not written directly to his lover, but to a publisher, and he did not skimp nor lie about his emotions, and he need not justify his love, but he independently chose to do so. Although I may never know how genuine these words of endearment were, I will naively choose to believe that the words complement the actuality of their lives intertwined.

(Yes this is very random I know.)

Take it or leave it,
Ez        

Justify

Liberals with their liberal views love,

To say, 'as long as it feels right, it is.'

We seem to lack the conviction,

The conviction to question our opinions.

We justify homosexuality, because it is nature,

Not nurture, but there lacks an argument strong enough.

I question myself sometimes, (do you?) and,

I ask myself, is what I am preaching,

Merely an alternate form of religion?

Merely advocating from a place of ill-placed belief? 

But because we have no book, no way of justifying,

Proving that the past does not condone it,

We are wrong? 

We choose to not agree and that is alright.

We choose to believe and that is fine.

But we both base our faith in the way most people do,

"If it is said more than once, it must be true."  

-Ez

"That's so gay"

"That's so gay."
The phrase, dropped on the daily,
By many, if not all of the heterosexual male community,
But I myself used the phrase, just as many.

Connotations bring with it negativity,
much alike with being African Americans not long ago, almost uncanny.
Bur why does the phrase, "so gay" have impunity?
Come on now, there is no similar place of such scrutiny.
We are all born the same way.

Why can we not live in a loving unity?
To live our lives; everyone having the same opportunity?
Stop. Do not say the words, "Gay"
If the intentions is to inflict pain a plenty,
We deserve the same immunity.
We deserve to feel similarly.

Wildest Dreams part 2

In the heat of the moment, me and my parents, in a series of parkour-like movements jumped and landed on the balcony of a luxury condo. What ever let us to do so is not important, nor can I remember it well enough to fully explain. Some how we knew the door leading inside would be open, obviously. 

Inside there was a set of stairs that led to a lower floor and two doors. We took the second one on the opposite wall of the door leading to the balcony. Inside it was sparsely decorated, an old brown/beige painting and a matching convertible couch/bed. there was a door on the left leading to what I presumed was a bathroom, and there were not other exits other than the door we came out from. There was a window with bars bolted across. "Lock the door," My father said, to nobody in particular. I was just about to grasp the handle when all of a sudden, the door swings opened and in steps a middle-age security guard.

We tried reasoning with him but it was no use, a cordless phone magically appeared and he spoke directly to the charging station. We made a run for it. However living in a small town, it was inevitable that we would be found. And as they questioned my parents in the dinning room of our own house, I laid quietly upon the couch with my grandmother now hushing me, to remain quite and flat. For what seemed like seconds or maybe hours I laid there. The security cops, now have taken my parents away and my remaining family members unanimously decided that the next course of action was to send me back to school, to live as a fugitive. 

In school I was constantly trying to avoid, a girl, my friend, Izzy, because she obviously knew all the shit that when down, and I though, as paranoiacally as it sounds that she was going to send me back to my state, to be prosecuted. Eventually after an elaborate scheme of escaping her, that involved climbing up to the top of my dorm's roof, using plastic rope, a match-box and several strands of blond hair, I ironically bumped into Izzy. She had a sorta longer bob cut, and had wavy beach curls that cascaded, progressively blonder and almost white at the tips. "I promised not to tell anyone," she whispered, "Someone else is however..." and with that she walked away. 

And then, I woke up.

LOL,

Ez

Devil's advocate

I am afraid I am now even less than a ghost.

For I seem to bear no soul,

Not a wisp of sprit.

Eyes, are both still and frozen.

Lips, locked in a sinister smile. 

In the mirror stares a creature, not animal, 

A demented, twisted caricature of my worst features. 

I fear and lust for pain to inflict.

To torment Forture's fairer few,

The rare that are able to sleep with ease.

The few who do not know of problems beyond themselves,

That live perpetually in a room voided of chaos and debris.

I despise their ill-placed happiness,

Because jealousy is a tempest that has engulfed my being.

The pain I suffer, these babies know not of.

Their blissful existence, saved from earthly sins.

I wish to drift down, to their range of short-sighted sight,

To share in their temporary bliss,

Before my tainted dagger, encased in my tainted hands,

Pierce the film of these fragile bubbles,

So we can all shed tears of remorse. 

Dog eat dog world

I have no longer the comfort of being in an environment where by I feel loved. With stress at its all time high, with emotions running a muck. People just don't care. Nobody is ever there for me when I need them most. Nobody has the time and nobody seems to care. All they seem to care about is how to make me lose it, make me want to punch them right in their sorry little noses. Being the mature, bigger person really sucks. I can't afford to be nice anymore, I have no fucking time. No time to deal with the bullshit that they call humour, the humour they find in seeing me waste my energy getting mad about. The energy spent ignoring them. The energy I spend trying to counter their immature attempts at aggravation. The energy all going down the never ending sink hole.

I cannot do anything and I no longer have the energy to resist the urge to spill, to curse and despise them, only to their enjoyment, I do not want to take the high road, and nobody is at my defence. I don't even have the luxury of being by myself. I am not in a good place.

GOD SAVE MEEEEEEE
Ez