This is what you do


This is what you’ve reduced me to

Laying in bed.

Thinking about your legs wrapped around my head.

How dare you enter my dream space demanding my services.

Caressing my skin

Begging for a quickie,

Your last class just left but your wife is on her way.

How dare you climb in my bed & beg for me to suck your clit.

Saying you can’t get me out your mind knowing you had to have me again since the last time.

You lay on your stomach

My tongue dives between your cheeks until I meet your treat.

Licking and suckling between your legs

My nose is a miniscule distance from your other edge.

Turning you, turns you on

Looking down at me I feel thighs tighten

Your breath quickens

Your lips glisten

“Right there don’t stop!!!”

I have intention to.

As you release, my alarm goes off & you’re not really here

It’s just me & my dreams of reality.

-dreads

Posted in poetry, Romantic, sexual/mature | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

the jig is up


see my problem is this.

It’s not that I care to little but too much.

I hate not seeing you and not talking to you.

I know my life is complicated and not the norm but let me ask you would you want it to be?

I’m not the rest of the cats hitting on you (least I hope not).  I set up shop differently.  Your company is what I’m after sex is just a byproduct.  If we do or don’t it doesn’t affect the vote that you’re dope.

I care more than I mean to.

more than I can explain.

my relationship is complicated and different.

My identity is similar in complexity.

I care about you as much as I can.

Love is not something I understand nor can I say I’ll give it.

I can give you less boredom instead of more & some good stories.

if you hang out with me.  It’ll be a adventure

If you don’t like what I’m offering. say  the words I’ll work to careless

no matter the stress

I’ll no longer address  the feelings and meanings in my head

I’ll leave you be

caring is painful in old ways to new situations.

my reputation not withstanding

your view on who you think I am,

I am still a man who likes you

-dreads

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

years lost


see I’ve had this job for over 10 years.

my resume reads “since my 1st work permit” but in truth since I was 3 I’ve toiled in this field. Across the board people are harder on me across the board.  I’m the heir the only 3rd generation to take a interest in our business.

My mom & uncle have been here and neither stayed but here I am plotting the days until it’s passed down to realize they’d rather burn it to the ground than pass it down.  Instead of building wealth my family would rather be rich.

I’m here and now wasting my talents on a job that doesn’t want or respect me.  I’m essentially a teacher at a worse high school.  My “bosses” only get involved when I want to make a move, other than that they’re doing anything else.

Everyday is a shift from bad to worse interaction, my lack of inaction has put me here.  I’m aware of the cost of my choice and the loss of my voice to this toxic environment that wears me down and over extends me.  The pays not great and the benefit is that I can go gray and still be some “kid”.  I log the longest hours for the lowest respect.

Every aspect I do learn on my own no one has taught me shit.  in the beginning it’s rough until i get it then I kill it. That’s my life, I struggle to make it that’s all I get no one cares if this kills me.  No one cares about the fights I break up or weigh in on.  The struggles are pointless and avoidable.

I’m tired of being belittled for sport. I used to love my job.  It starts at 5:15am and end at 2pm (supposedly) it’s not a good experience these days.  the kind of thing that make you question your sobriety & validity.  my company is dying and I know how to save it, but who will

a) Listen to me                                                                                                                       b) Save me

help is a fucking unreal expectation, all the personnel that was worth shit has left (quit or fired). I’m leading the walking dead (in spite of myself).  My job is horrible but I feel like I can’t leave.  Each day I sit at my junky desk and see the wasted work I know the clock is ticking on me here & here being a thing.  We’ve been open 47-49 years (i’m not sure).  I won’t be here in 3 years, it’s not going to be me.

I can’t start a family here.  We are not family here no matter how we started we’re not family here.

I need to start looking for the sake of my freedom & safety.  I’m a heir to a dying company.  A decaying kingdom.  My liege lord & lady would rather use their blades on me than let me take them up and lead.  I see how it is, at most turns I’m sabotaged and left in the wind.

How long until I abdicate my crown and break ground alone. How long will it take me to find a new lord to serve.  How long to find a place to wield my expertise for profit.

these wasted years have honed me & made me complacent.  I need a replacement for my skill set.  I need to leave. Be free or under better organized tyranny

-Dreads

 

Posted in revolution, Snapshot | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The sex is great,  but not really


You’re great in bed, I mean you give great head bit there is something wrong.

You don’t communicate, eunouciate, or pontificate. Checking for clues from you is misleading, confusing and my own undoing.

We don’t have shit in common but the sex, don’t get me wrong it’s great but not really.

You’re inexperience shows when I ask about the current experience goes with me inside you. It’s not ideal to say the least from your distant look to the push and pull.

Your vagina is tight like you’re not aroused (there was 35minutes of foreplay, I love to give head you seem to enjoy it so it seems but that finger to the eye seems inconclusive)

I know what arousal feels like, and I’m confused each night. Are you even enjoying this? I mean there very little moisture down there, What’s up? Is the sex at least okay? You pull me in say “harder, deeper,fuck me” with your foot on my chest doing the opposite of the request.

The sex is great but not really. Maybe its the age difference your 10 to my 93 but sober sex is great sex. I mean damn what are trying to forget? Needing to play connect the dots each day. Fuck why are we hear? What’s this about? In my time I’d have a nightcap, not a pregame. I might take a hit a hour before I connected but not what you do (no I’m not doing it with you).

The sex is great, buts it’s all we do. From what you’ve shown me and what you won’t accept of me. Either you’re a loner of the highest order or a liar. Who tells a story with no names? How the fuck can I keep it straight let alone you?

The sex is great but not really. For the record my dick is not a person and your hips are not a hula hoop, stop that spinning shit it just hurts. I don’t get why we have sex with the tv on and not music(I’ve got some great playlist). If you watching the showing let me know I’ll get my specs and watch too and stop fucking you.  Spit or swallow u mean it’s a preference but did you just spit in my trash can? I mean damn this just got weirder, how do I proceed if you rejected my seed on a base level.

The sex aight great it’s creepy as fuck from the interaction to the execution. We won’t keep fucking around its just a recipe to fucking up.

I’ll have to end this awkward tryst with thus weird sex and nothing else to show except dirty sheets and bruised me

-dreads

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Can you hear me


Here’s the thing you never understood. 

She’s just a friend bit you’re my girlfriend. Me & her talk about you in the sense that I need a sounding board, you both know how I’m liable to say just about anything. 

I hit her moring noon & night after we fight. I need to talk it out when you walk out. It’s not a slight but I don’t want to get mad and destroy what we have. 

She’s just a calm voice to remind me how much better I am with you. She loves me too just differently than you. 

You say we started as friends & then lovers, but do I have to remind you that when I came through you had a man & she was already my friend? 

Your guy I’m sure was threatened by me. Not like I made it easy for him. Sonning him every time we met up. All you two could do was look up at me, as he let you go.  My friend ran interference especially when he wanted to fight me. 

See that’s love she knows only one of us could walk away with you.  She’s had my back for years & I’ve had hers. She my best friend who’s no threat to you. If anything she loves you more than me, seeingredients how you changed me doing what she could never do. 

You got me to leave the streets while she could only go out with me & pray for my safety. You got me to put the blunt down while she’d count how much dough I’d drop at the spot  

We speak every day but you stay in my home & share my bed. Don’t let time line fool you. She’s just my best friend a advisor when I want to war with you. You’re my life blood helping me progress to the next stages. 

Don’t be jealous of a woman who was 1st & loved differently.  If anything she’s the dry run & you’re show. 

Baby calm down when my phone rings. She just wants a little time to vent, a momental spent on her side to repay her for all she’s done for me. 

Her biggest goal is helping me keep you.  

-dreads

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Tears save lives


The rules I live by.

As a man 1st I can’t show any emotions outside of anger and rage. I can speak here on a page just not in my life. Life wise there are no tears allowed in my life.

I’m a man hard as stone outside & dead within. But here’s the thing, I have relationships where the stone is too hard to be around softer people. I’ll admit my emotions & I are strangers that in my life expression is dangerous. 

I’m armed for life. Armor of the emotional variety protect me from all other people. I’ve worn it longer than I’ve worn my glasses and I’ve had them all my life. My weapons are my words. I have a keen eye for seeing othere insecurity. My weapons can be found at the ends of my limbs 2fist & 2feet. I’ve used these after my words succeeded or failed. 

I’m a man before I’m anything else. Before black. Before pansexual. Before son, boyfriend, or friend. I have to exhibit power at all times especially among other men. It’s not a choice I made, but one that was made for me. Either you’re predator or prey, being both is the way to survive if you want to make it home alive. 

My manhood complicates my life in more ways than can be imagined if you’re on the outside looking in. These rules I live by may not make sense to you. Watch how I live & compare it to men you know then decide who has it right. 

Emotions are not embraced, I was taught as a boy that men don’t cry. The unless didn’t hit until death & broken bones did. No one said that suicide is normal for men like me. I learned over the years that holding in these tears can take years off my life. That they turn to stress and further into death. 

I’m a man death is the destination.  It’s determined to live brAve & die proud. Where I’m from men fuss, fight, kill & die. Because we were taught that how men behaved. Our fathers never showed up to show us, all that was left was what we see on TV or around the way. It’s hard to learn the life lessons from drug dealers or school teachers. 

My view is askew, especially where women are involved. Are they like my mother? Better or worse. How I treat women varies based on how I see Me with them. Sex hasn’t made anything better but can cloud the situation as far as emotions go. 

Emotions are break points in my armor. Points where exploitation has been a thing so I’m not real with people. It’s smoke & mirrors with reality sprinkled in. As a man I’m adjusting to this future world where I have to 

  1. catch up my emotions 
  2. Stop fighting 
  3. Grow to explore life outside of the aggressive world I came up in
  4. Treat partners. …

I’m a man no matter how complicated it is

-dreads

Posted in cleaning out my closet, poetry, Snapshot | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Don’t attempt to use me 

To massage your guilt. 

Don’t act like you don’t remember, what you put me through. 

The walls you slammed me into 

The bruises I had to wear to school

The fear that once gripped me when I saw you. 

Don’t act like our blood relations protect your actions

The broken glasses 

The trashed room 

The drugs you put in my shoes. 

Should I forget the threats you left on my voicemail cause I won’t call you. 

Should I think of the good times when I hung out with you & watched you eat all the food. 

How about when you came at my mother 

Should I sweep it under the rug cause you’re here brother. 

Or do I tell another story of your temper gone bad. 

Thankfully you’re no ones father or husband, instead you’re alone slowly dying of the rage disease that was your stock & trade. 
The damage is still here but now I can hurt you back. I’m not some kid who can’t fight back or a developing teen. 

I’m a man too

I’ve even got guns too

I’m not afraid to fight you even if one of us must die. 

The boy in me has to try at least one time to strike fear in your eyes. 
To repay you with what you’ve given me. 

I’m not here for you to be better, but I will continue to watch you suffer. 
– dreads

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment