Gay Writer needs your love (I swear to God it’s not what you think)

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unsplash-logoDmitry Bayer

Hey Everyone.

I am really excited to bring to your attention something that I think I should have been doing for a while now.

As most (all three of you) know that I post my poetry online for free, I have decided (my husband has decided) that I should post them as well as my fiction online through Patreon.

I know this whole system is somewhat controversial but I try (at least on my Patreon page) not to be. The access is broken down into levels that I think are pretty cool and would allow me more writing time and more focus on content creating instead of running around Hell’s Half Acre (Hi Sam and Dean).

Besides being a poet, I write fiction. Mostly gay fiction in the paranormal genre and if you’re an author like me you know that when you type ‘The End’ the real work is just beginning even if you are traditionally published.

I would like to deliver the best product I can to the people who spend their hard earned dollars on the stories and poetry that I create and I just need some backup ( Marvel or DC doesn’t matter) to help me do that.

So, without further ado – here’s my site www.patreon.com/fefeeleyjr

Come by and visit.  I hope you like the place.

Thank you

Growing older (National Poetry Month)

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unsplash-logoDylan McLeod

It’s 12:20 in the morning
I trace my tongue over a broken tooth
my back hurts from too much work
and my eyes are grainy and tired
I’ve turned another year older
a few more laugh lines around my eyes
a few more frown lines upon my brow

and yet, I am not the only one
I can see the age in my husband’s face
the sharper look of a man in his thirties
the youthful fat now melted away
leaving a refined brow
and sharper eyes

New questions parade in my mind
things I used to never think of
am I aging gracefully?
What does that mean?
Am I living a good life?
What does THAT mean?

I shall close my eyes soon
and sleep the rest of the night away
and know that in younger days I could stay up til dawn
caffeine and nicotine and a pretty face

Yet, I think those days are gone
and my beauty, and my mind, and my body
need their rest
for I am one year older than last year
but I really feel this year
deep in my bones

 

If only I…(National Poetry Month)

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unsplash-logoDemetrius Washington

 

If only I had leaned into that touch
that September morning before you left
the sheets pooling at your hips
my body sore from the night prior

I had lain awake all night
your head on my chest wishing
for the morning to refuse to break across the sky
leaving us naked and bathed in darkness

I saw the hurt in your eyes
at the sudden sullenness in my gaze
as I bit down on a thousand words
of panic at the back of my throat

I loved you
with your careless hair and your soft grey eyes
and your warm body and your powerful back
the shape of your lips that kissed me
and the submissiveness

If only I’d taken care
to dress with you and walk you down
the flight of stairs to my door
and kissed you once more before sending you away
into the morning sun

You had another life
was it a job? A home? A wife?
you wouldn’t say and I didn’t ask
when we met at the airport bar

I didn’t care then
but I do care now
if only I’d listened to the voice that warned me
somewhere underneath my second
bourbon and seven
when I saw the tie you were wearing and smiled

You were here on business for a month
and you were my lover as well
and we worked til daybreak often
laughing and drinking and lovemaking

Do you want me to come back?
No, I didn’t want you to leave
If only I’d said that
I wouldn’t be left here with only the smell
of your body on my bedclothes

Because I fell in love with you again (National Poetry Month)

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unsplash-logoLubov’ Birina

 

Because you came to me
in the night
knocking on my door
gentle raps, barely taps
but enough to send me to the door,
wrapping myself in a robe as I went

There you stood
windswept hair, leather jacket, and doe eyes
smelling of Burberry cologne and nervousness
while the thunder rolled in the pitch dark
and lightning flashed
because the mother nature was conspiring

I’d missed you for weeks, it seemed
Maybe it was a lifetime or two
the warmth of your voice
the way my name tumbled from your lips

I thought you’d never come back
and because of the wind I shivered
and retreated back through my doorway
before you stepped inside

before I could speak
you wrapped your arms around me
I wanted to cry, I wanted to laugh
because I missed you – I wanted to freeze time

My hands reached up the million miles
to your sweet face and held it
and felt you tremble under my touch
because of your bashfulness I kissed your temples

I could smell the sweetness of your sweat
the hunger in your touch
and when our mouths collided for the first time
I tasted the whisky you’d drank embolden you

It was two a.m but I didn’t care
I took you by the hand and led you upstairs
our hearts pounding away with each step
because of anticipation, I shivered again

But this time you covered me
somewhere in the middle of the night
you made me call out your name
and I did so, willingly
because somewhere in the middle of the night
I fell in love with you, again

When Love’s The Killing Kind (Poem)

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I lost my dignity the other day
It’s not something I do often
When I am caught up in the moment
I wish I could think.
Instead of just feel.
 
My rational mind leaves a lot to be desired
I search through life hands outstretched, blindly
from one feeling to the next
intimately getting to know the texture of the world
 
Please, let me forget that moment
there on my knees
when I begged – I don’t do that
I don’t break down
No, not me
 
Someone plucked a chord on my heartstrings
the tune reverberated through to my bones
I miss you so much my teeth ache
Your presence now a ghost in the room
 
There is a desire inside of me
a loneliness that I cannot seem to fill
as barren as the streets of late November
save for scattered leaves tossed by the bitter wind
 
I had created for myself a castle
guards posted watch on every single wall
the mage in the tower and the beast in the dungeon
and upon the throne was I, Lord of it all.
 
Battle-hardened, World Wary,
I was no match for the warmth of the sun
And now I am in mourning, my friend
these walls as gray as my mood
 
I wish I would not feel so blindly
but I can’t help it, otherwise, I’d truly blind
but I see with the heart’s eyes only
and that kind of love, is the killing kind.
 
I lost my dignity the other day
Haven’t bothered searching for it, true
I wish I were somewhat different sometimes
I wish I were someone like you

 

Enough Gold To Hoard

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How did that happen?
Where was the tipping point?
I must have missed the exit sign
on the freeway of my feelings
and kept driving

Did I have the radio on too loud
was I caught up in the music?
Did I allow my mind to wander?
I have awareness but did I use it?

Or did I want to keep going?
Did I choose to pass the off ramp
and see what another stretch of freeway looked like?
It’s still blacktop, white stripes, my hands are on the wheel
but now I don’t know what to do.

Caught in the once familiar
I stood and looked at myself in the mirror
and heard the words spoken in my ear
I smiled and felt sexy
with new clothes and my prowess
now I am dressed to the nines
waiting for the phone to ring

I’m annoyed
that’s always a dangerous feeling
needle pricks inside my brain
that has me wondering and feeling foolish
I can taste copper inside my mouth
as I bite down on angry words
now the dragon’s been bothered

I hate when people do this
speak the truth and call the shadow what it is
make clear roads in, identify the moment
and the vanish as a sort of punishment
with whiplash-like ferocity
leaving me asking, “What the fuck did *I* do?”

Nothing. I didn’t do anything.
You made you feel those things.
Fantasize those things.
Dream those things.
Just like I did.
My guilt is mine.
Keep yours.
I have enough gold to hoard.

Elton John (Poem)

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unsplash-logoAustin Neill

Is this all there is?
Elton John at quarter til midnight?
A black cat next to me
with the ceiling fan up high?
Silent Karaoke 
About a song about the blues
I am driving down the freeway
of my mind

It’s not the holidays
those are done
It’s not homesickness
my family home is gone
why do I feel so tired
and emptied out?

Chicken soup for the soul
Ice cream for hurt feelings
I feel like I’m starving to death
thirsty and lonely and bored

My husband cried tonight
and asked me not to leave him
but would it be him I am leaving
Won’t I be leaving myself?
Cyclical Dysthymia circle around again
pick me up and throw me in the trunk
I don’t know what to feel anymore

I just know I have concrete shoes
a sore body, and a numb mind
I am sad but have no reason to cry
Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolfe?
Rocks in my pocket
there’s a river somewhere close by
I can smell it on the air
the last vestiges of the mind altering chemicals
from a month prior still have their white bony fingers
around my brain

I’ll bounce back
one day I’ll sing aloud again
I’ll dance on the driveway as I pick up the mail
but for tonight, swing low sweet chariot
pick up this letter from me to God
It’s lyrics from an Elton John song
and sad songs say so much

 

Frantic (poem)

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The simple act of breathing
the heartbeat
thoughts receding
rock me gently in the afternoon sun

relax, I tell my body
let the moment heal you
listen to some music
and let the words distract you
as you lip sync the lyrics
that you’ve learned to know by heart

keep busy, must keep busy
write something, say something,
ten more pounds on the weight bench
heavy breathing in the moment
there’s no rest until you’re done

walk the dog at a fast clip,
come home and set out some chicken
think about dinner, think about bills,
check the status of your sales
and wonder if it’s all done

Try to relax, I say again
but i feel lazy, unrepentant
must do, must do something
to justify my existence
give me worth, make me worthy
where did all my book sales go?

I am still but I’m not stable
guest come to eat at my dinner table
get up, clean up, entertain
My God does this ever stop?
undeserving, under serving
a little blue pill (no not that one)
I am taking
take away the panic
understanding nothing’s wrong

But it is wrong, isn’t it?

I am half here, half somewhere else
hungry, horny, needed, needing
please believe me when I say this
I want to just lay down
But I love you,
God, I love you
there is no one else above you
except for him and maybe her,
and then there’s Christ
What have I done?

Relax, I tell my body
let the moment try and heal you
until the thoughts you have been thinking
have been emptied from your heart

Dragon Slayer (poem)

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Mohamed Nohassi

…and in the midst of it all
stood a man
quaking at the knees
fires burning on the horizon
fanned by the wind
dance in his eyes
there’s a sword in his hand
a mage’s staff in the other
a dragon lay dead at his feet
the acrid smell of smoke
and cinders dance in the air
there is stills screaming
the damage the dragon had done
has yet to be fully realized
the scar on his chest
broken and bruised bodies scattered
his lover, still missing
dawn is hours away, still
as he licks his lips
with a papery tongue, thirsty
his heart still hammering away
sweat, piss, fear, the stink of decay
He doesn’t know what to do
he jealously regards to the dragon
he’s so tired, so very tired
the castle is half destroyed behind him
there’s nothing but uncertainty
from his moment, onward
What was that?
His nerves jump, his heart plummets
a cry of dismay emerges from his parted lips
it takes a moment to register
the smallest change in the air
something sweet, perfumed, merciful
the first drop, the second,
the thirty third before his shoulders relax
and as the sky opens up
his knees give and he sinks
to weep, the child of many moons passed
can finally express itself
his tears mingled with the rain,
washing his soul clean
“I’m okay. I’m okay,”
he says over and over
shuddering wildly, trembling
convincing the world, the dragon,
himself
as he hangs suspended
in between life and death
warrior and weak
as heaven breaks over his
supplicant tremulous form

I am not your homo (poem)

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Derek Owens
i am not your homo
your self promo
your private dancer
or your reason to go on

drown it in gold
its still only a cover
you cannot fathom the essence
of the material deep inside

the only way to expose it
is to expose you
when you stand inside your truth
we meet at an intersection of our
humanity

But

without that all else is caricature
a golden calf paper mache
pretty to look at but void of the inside
even when filled with candy

No god

shake it till it breaks
shatter it
bleed it out
lay it on the floor

get down on your hands and knees
and search through the mess
you still don’t get it do you?
you can’t claim what you’ve never possessed
what you never had rights to

i am not your homo
your non committal fun on a friday night
I’ve already had trick daddy days
that, should you have witnessed it,
still couldn’t articulate

I am not your homo
I don’t belong to you
he don’t belong to you
we don’t belong to you
We are ours and ours alone

Freebirds fleeing your gilded cage