1.
I’d never been in a fight, but I knew
I could take him. I punched Kenny Roth
on the playground. My fist smashed the bone
in his nose. A week before he’d stayed at my house,
tried to kiss me, touch my underwear. I wanted more
like he did, but didn’t know what that would mean about me.
He said he was only joking. He said he wouldn’t tell.
Still I slugged him, tried to break his jaw
in front of his girlfriend. It had something to do with sin,
or the honor of men, which usually means it’s about violence.
I liked the way his lip opened under my fist.
I liked what it felt like to be a man.
2.
I know a guy who likes to throw cakes
in the faces of his boyfriends. It turns him on
to ruin a handsome man. When he talks
to guys he sees crumbs in eyes, chocolate frosting
across noses and chins. Jumps them from
the shower, keeps unwrapped Twinkies by his bed.
He likes to see them naked, wiping their eyes,
erections sometimes stiffer in the air.
If they stay, he ends up
pushing them away.
3.
The first man bit hard on my lip, thrust harder with his hips.
I know what I want for dessert.
The more I struggled, the more he moaned.
I’m being a good top. I have to break you in.
Learn to take it,
or you’ll always be alone.
4.
My father wants to take me outside
and beat me for my smart-ass mouth.
He says: You’re just like my father.
I say: I’d kill myself to get away from you, too.
We both draw lines and cross them.
We both are afraid of our rage.
My mother tells us to shut our mouths,
she won’t have this fighting in her house.
5.
When a friend was gay-bashed in the South End,
he said the world went quiet and he was cold,
but he didn’t think cold, he thought
so much blood, so much snow.
He said his life got flatter and everything went silent.
He didn’t think it would be so bad to die in the quiet.
They asked him if he liked it rough.
The last thing he heard was: have you had enough?