This is called "I hit send, or modern meltdown." I obsess over a couple of things. First, there's my hair. It has to be perfect. So, I mess with it until it looks like I didn't care, and then I feel like I'm worth it, maybe handsome. And with product and passion and some painstaking plucking, I convince myself that I'm someone worth...
Then, there's my poetry. I strive... Then, there's my poetry. I strive for naked honesty that's why I changed the pronoun to "he" despite the fact that he'd never have the hots for me. Unreturned puppy love on a one-way street, couldn't look him in the eye, so I looked at my feet, only to find that my shoes seemed stupid all the sudden. So, I retreat as they squeaked as I took off running. I used to wait for him by my locker as we never really made eye contact. I think maybe he is, may be he isn't, but a crush overcomes that. So, I stare at him, stressing about something to say, but panic that I might slip and give something away like I'm horny, I'm awkward, or the fact that I'm...
A cocksucker. Then, there's text messaging. I read them over 15 times before sending, studying the sentences, surveying for subtlety hoping the reader won't figure it out or be on to me. What if I cross the line, and flirting becomes fleeting from fingers that fight to write, "Fuck it, I'm in love. I'm in love, I'm in love with you," and hit "Send." In my wildest fantasies, I'm still not that strong. So, I type and retype until I feel nothing's wrong, but it's always wrong. So says preacher, says the kids on the bus, says the pale political creatures whose words of hate flood the room microphones through speakers. Lucky me, I had love which runs so much deeper. It took me 20 years to come out. I felt brave for a bit, but I've been thinking about how to tell someone I love them. I'm better with writing than talking sometimes, and if I talk I might mess up and I can't edit or plagiarize. It should be easier. Now, everyone knows I like guys, but I freeze up every time I look into his...
Crotch. This is going great. So, I'll write a text message. I'll say everything I need, so I'll quote better poets than I and source links that say liking guys is as natural as green eyes or my off-hand replies and say, "We aren't alone, we aren't alone, we aren't alone, and any home is a home," and type it all in my phone. There's surrogate mamas, who will walk down the street and ignore shady ha-has, keep up the p-p-p-poker face and sing...
Led Zeppelin. Stairway to heaven, fuck the highway to hell. I'm agnostic and it's obnoxious for people to think they know us so well. It's love, it doesn't matter which direction I fell, so their words cannot hurt me. I stand with the stones you throw, trying your best to make it stick. I'm far from being bullied, but my skin is still as it's thick. One cannot know pain until love is hit or miss. Relish in the random while I rely on the risk, and I envy all the heteros who do not fear to take their pick, while I have to read the signs just because I suck...
At sports. I have never known love before, but I've felt my stomach do flips. I've known lust so intense that I just wanted to quit. Makes me stare at your lips, make me try to laugh with clever quips, and if you are reading this, I finally hit "Send."
Oh my God!
It was awesome.
You should have dropped the mic, dude.
I thought I was going to piss my pants.
It's son. Son, motherfucker!
Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce again, Nathan Big Smooth.
I'm all already.
Can't keep ..., man!
I'm so proud of you!
I like, so I was smiling.
I just want to hug him.
It's just so good.There may be small errors in this transcript.