core

when not being is
never enough to
locate myself.
the years of shame
and denial
running away from
that self
that being
marked by boyhood
run amok
marked by manhood
in vile form
marked by castration
as worrisome
penance so as not
to be cast with
the great offenders

and as age creeps up
and takes hold
I wonder how long
the charade can last
I wonder how long
I can fight the demons
inside that want
to be desired in
a fire of male lust
that want to be all
that my PC heart
has cast out years ago
all that my shattered
ego demands and
wants to be served.

and the battle goes on,
in my head. Wondering
which is the truth and
which is the response
which is the joy
and which is the wretch
Finding it hard to tell
the difference between
liberation and a
midlife crisis.
and late at night,
not giving a fuck
about the justification
of my manners and
my taste and my tongue
but only want to quench my
thirst, only want to
feel your flesh
only want to breath the air
as a creature of sex and skin
and cast off this head
that will only shed doubt
that will only judge and bury
that will only shrivel and
die rather than look you
in the eyes and tremble you
to the core