Hi yes, I would desperately like to see your *insert original media type* please
I have so many at this point for 80 different fandoms, all in different levels of being wips, I couldn't even pick one to show you lol, this is just a very very common feeling I have.
but I might as well give you something, so have some sad, gay, religious trauma ridden "poetry" I wrote after playing Sally face (it's for Travis and his sad little crush on sal), but it could be read as any old queer angst cause there's very little character description.
I doubt this piece a lot, I feel like it's too much and not enough at the same time. there's most likely half a million typos, but my lack of confidence in this piece got so bad I don't even want to look at it anymore.
tw for extreme internalized homophobia.
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Some romances are sweet and gentle; the girl gets the guy. She bats her eyelashes and twirls her hair, he hides his blush with his bravado and sweeps her off her feet. they are joined in holy matrimony, the lord looking down on them with pleasure.
This isn’t one of those romances. For I am the boy who will never get the other boy. I will rub my wet eyes raw and pull at my hair till theres is nothing left to pull at. I may have him, but only ever in sin. I will never have him in your eyes, Lord.
This isn’t sweet nor gentle. This is treacherous and painful and all-consuming.
He’s my destruction, my end, my point of no return. He is my salvation, my respite, my beginning, my place of origin.
I would know him in insanity, as that is where I have come to know him. I know nothing of him. I would know him in death, as that is how far I will go for him. he knows nothing of me. I will know him in pain and sorrow, as that is all he brings me. He’s never uttered a word in my direction, not knowingly. To think he’s spared me a glance would be a mercy on my aching heart.
I couldn’t tell you his favorite color or what he does to fill his free time. I don’t know anything about him. He is part of me. We have never been one. He doesn’t even know how I stare, how I long and pine, how I would snatch my soul from the lord, how I would sell it to the devil himself for just a single kiss, a touch of the fingers, to snatch gently at a single wisp of his hair. Anything. Even the most miniscule of affections would be everything. For him to simply know my name, for him to look at me as I look at him would be enough.
though, in the end, I would never dare do such a thing, I would never curse him to share my fate, because I love him. I would never pray for him to be a sinner like me. He deserves the greatest of heavens, not to be licked at by flames, cursed for all of eternity to never know rest.
Yet, when I lie in bed longing that he is, that he nurtures this beautiful curse like a poisonous flower that grows in our chests. That we could be sinner’s together. Its shameful, horrific, cruel, but a feeling that I cannot shake.
It doesn’t help that his voice, the parables that fall from his lips, sound as though they are the words of God Himself. His laugh could cure sickness, the sound of his smile lilting his voice ever so slightly, could bring about the greatest of peace. it is etched into my memory, it plays in the softest of dreams and darkest of nightmares. I could pull it from a crowd, it is the only voice that matters. I believe that when I die, when I sink into hell, it will be his voice there, as it will be my greatest torture, it will be my greatest respite.
I see all that is horrid about him, the scars that mar his skin and burdens he carries on his shoulders, shattering his clavicles and crushing his vertebrates. I see all of the things that make him ugly and unwantable, and want him more. I see everything that is beautiful, that mark him an angel, and seek to honor him. Where some see a monster, I see something godsent. What some seek to lust, I seek to honor. I see his grace, his holy divinity. It is something untouchable.
He is divine, he is my greatest sin. He is an angel, a demon, the Christ reborn once more, an eldritch horror. In my heart he is mine.
Lord forgive me for I have sinned, I wish to fall flesh to flesh with another man, no, boy. We are boys. We are boys in love. I am a boy in love, he has the mercy of not knowing me. Forgive me lord for I lust, not to touch with any lude manner, but to hold his hand in mine, to feel the gentle roughness of his palm against my own. I wish to kiss his brow and wake to his sleep filled eyes, to see his bed head first hand, to feel how sleep warms his skin, how he would wrap his arms around me when he turns back over from hitting snooze. I wish to kiss him ever so gently. Forgive me lord for being in love, for wanting the simple pleasures, for doing it all wrong. I am wrong.
Am I wrong? If I am wrong, why would you create me like this?
I would surely die if I were to admit these thoughts to anyone but you, Lord, and even you will one day claim your revenge against me, you will come to smite my soul, but that is ok. Until then, I will simply thank you, for making me wrong, for creating such a beautiful sin, so that I may lust after your creation, one so heavenly, with the tainted innocence of a boy who was robbed of it with bible verses and the screams of preachers so long ago, but still clings to the idea of it. Of being pure and holy. Of loving innocently like the child I still feel myself to be.
Until the day my soul is consumed by the flames, I will tell you all about him. Until that day I will drag my chains, shackles, and cinder blocks so I can just bask in his light a little longer. Maybe one day I will hold his hand and pretend I do not feel your shame and humiliation. Maybe one day I will kiss him ever so softly, like two children on the playground, and I will act as though I am not damning myself, like we together are not damned to the flames. Maybe I was always meant to be sinner, maybe its worth it.
Yes, yes it’s worth it. I will commit a million sins, with prayers still on my tongue, with a love so deeply rooted in my chest that I still praise your name despite the disgust you surely hold for me, just to be with him. You can damn me, you can shame me, your holy messengers can attempt to change me, to beat me, to kill me, to snuff me out and take my love. But I will never not love my perfect sin. I will chose it every time.
I will be the boy, who loves another boy. I will sing hymns, wear my rosary, go to church, kneel in the pews with pride. I will hold his hand and love him for as long as he allows. I will feel the burn of hell under each strike of my feet upon your earth and be comforted by his hand in mine, and mine in his, the gentle roughness of his palms, the heavenly essence of his voice, the love of two sinners binding us together.
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