masculinity

harder

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

kick myself for me, brightly coming, releasing his eyes
sometimes I sit completely still
barely breathing while you start the next

Lately you’d been gone and you’d asked for a good boy. I can be asked for it.

“I think you should try harder”

I sit in your chair, refusing to pout, inserting lines between us. I decide I do.

You start in one moment not to miss me or feel better,
saying softly, as if you are me,

“We have you, whatever is left”

Your facade falls as you push your own needs, follow my hair down my face. I can be disciplined.

“Do you know what I’ve asked you for?”

You bark defensively.
You’ve been softer,
warmer with a bit in your gaze. You think I’m unruly.

I spit his domination and desire
My ears burn and pound
Wrap my body in a shield
Before he unzips his bulge

I don’t miss you
I don’t want you close
I don’t want you so warm while looking away

You get up behind me, make me walk in front of you, all hard inside
He opens his fear, standing, towering over, relentless, angry, jealous

“I…I… I t…tried my eyes, inserting them for your eyes that wander to make you look at…”

“What are you looking at?”

“No.. nothing…”

I stutter. I can obey him. He is terribly confusing, and I’d do what was never heard before. He keeps me to work on himself, but the sight of him turns me staring.

“What did you do?”

His mouth drops if I look at him. He pushed hard earlier when I hadn’t put the possibility on the table. He taught me how to be ashamed of admiration in the corners of my knees.

I want to be as you want to be, so provocative I almost lose focus
I’m not a door for you to break open
a pool for you emotionless eyes

He complies with his desire and immediately regrets it, jerking, red with shame.

“Do you need to tell me that what you did was wrong?”

You got all hard inside me and I let you
You have a way to make it about me
I am just playing along
to keep you from warning me
about looking up

I wish I had answered the voice of confusion
I wish I could be an easy friend
I wish I could feel better

I’m trying to tell you that when I obey him his eyes start to work
and it’s for my own good
only I can take it by drawing it out with his pen

open

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

Come into my body with fierceness in your hands
I can be yours
Make me merciless and I’ll catch you
I can be your boy

Descend a ladder into the sound of my voice
I can be open
Let go at the knees and I’ll want you
I can be open deeply

Follow me without your clothes
I can kiss the fall
You are willing to be alive and inside me
I can kiss the fall of your defenses

We are willing to feel wanted
I can wrap you in leather and hands
Reach for me, press up my boy
I can surround you in chains

You might think it’s not possible to fall
Make my mouth a possibility
Fleeting gestures of soon to be
Break my desire, be strong

Break off your eyes
The lives we’ve made so far
Protected from accord
Call me down your mouth and will

Never let me off my knees
Kiss me where I fall
Come to me at once
Break off possibility too

Be my body
Hold your throat open
Let go in the way you want me
Never let me take you wrong

I’ll stumble all over over you
Get on my throat
Open me wide
Linger behind you

Bring your ladder to my door
Be here right now
Come in your clothes
Be my boy

Let me wrap you
Bind you here in my mouth
Surround me with your want
I will you

experience

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

He acts like he’s nervous,
he could not stammer, “n-n-no, w-h-a-a…wait!”
Kiss the dull sides of his flesh, such I want to cut into the fuck?

this experience kills

The stakes are in killing,
such are his cheeks, “go ahead and danger.”
The balance of his tongue is careful power.

this experience kills the intimacy

The explosive crack of pulling out,
the attack to the jugular is sharp and in love. “I see you.”
The dull side is flush with domination.

this experience kills the intimacy of sex

He jerks back on the object of his sex
and affection for conflict, “Cry boy. Cry.”
I only submit to submit when I can’t conflate intimacy with this matter.

intimacy is sex into the skin

I insert the explosive crack of affection
I can’t help convulsing to the torture, “Suck my pocket, then could I stop, boy?”
He complies, still reeling in the distance, it keeps him completely.

this experience

seized

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

I’ve never been clearer than my sweat. Remove the base of thinking and exchange, all that the other person feels. I think I know you in this moment, as if it’s cute with my hands tied to the floor, unable resist the affection taking place inside me.

You victim of love,
your fits of distance.

I’ll carry my own realist when
I can’t bring myself to use you so well.

I’ll carry these beliefs wrapped in shells
shoved deep into the elements of my pockets.

The walls of his body are seized with drones. He’s gagging on the physical, emotionally-charged struggle between fucking and eating as he spits possibility in my face. Power inequalities are not based on the dull sides of his flesh, they are based in his mouth.

I think you, you, you..
vulnerability scares your selves.

Have you had enough of me yet?

I have enough to keep him,
his hand is flush to my head,
my head is flush to the floor

Survive! (if it’s not a trigger
in his hand
on my head)

A soldier will protect his throat from any real cries of empathy. I take discomfort in not letting go of thinking of violent experiences.

severe

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

I will own, or I will sever
My body runs the line

He prefers people as objects, resources of distance
The victim is hiding something
Submit to protect his heart

“Go ahead and let go to try to want affection”

I don’t.

I try to return the haunting familiarity of intimacy. I feel strange.
I confuse love with combat
I am not seeing it makes me he

“Who was the victim here, the wall?”

It wasn’t.

I can’t bring myself to,
He freezes me

lost

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

who is..
where is…

what happened to your sex?
is it in the bathroom, the bathtub?
did you drop it into the toilet?
did it get sucked down the drain?

or is it still sleeping entangled in the bedsheets
while you left for work in the morning?
with socks lost to the laundry,
on the kitchen counter,
or in a bag in a drawer for safekeeping?

Did you ask someone to hold it for you,
and then they ran off?

Was it removed by a doctor,
as an anomaly?

When its taken from you
its hard to remember

Maybe mine is in the car with bad breaks
in the ruins of a New England mill
lying in the tall grass next to the river

Or gathering dust in the teacher’s closet
behind the dugout
caught in drag in a bridesmaid dress

You search frantic
sweating
pounding
wanting

for what you misplaced
fearing it is gone

And then you realize
he took it from you
he lost it when
he misplaced his own

inside

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

I had to focus just to say
are you there?
I read dreams and visions to find my reality
become more poetically erotic
shed our skin to find clarity

I was sweating nervously in his subjectivity
What if it was something about what he did?

Safely twisted I reside inside a fantasy
but when I enter him I meet his virility
he is afraid to be seen, drunk, without will
I rape myself with my own subjectivity

Just take some notes make observations
construct a man
Let him out for a few days where he can be playful
clever

I’m in the men’s room gagging on his hard edges and my lived experience
write my own anger in his energy

I do
it is the difference between us

sight

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

There was once a beautiful boy in here. His wrists are bound and bleeding from the rope. He’s naked and hiding in a corner underground, not quite aware of how to stand straight. The light hurts his eyes. Insects have started to eat his flesh. He’s muttering, “I will love, I will grow, I will live. I will love, I will grow, I will live.”

I am so naked.

Wake up!

Look at me goddamnit!

a force

~ jacobalden ~ Leave a comment

Blood flows into the folds

Dried into a purple bruise on silicone

With each stroke I’m coming alive

You are my movement and direction

A wounded force

I’ll make you a monument

doodle of my loss

from an arrow

gas pumps and cable ends

glass bottles and rolling pins

hot dogs and bananas

You are direction. Action. A flow of current.

An instrument of love