7PM Horizon, reflection of boyhood.

I sit in the amber lighting of a room, a light from far away, mailed from across the country, in the desert, it came to me. I sit there in that light, on my bed in an outter burrough of NYC at sixteen years old. There are streetlights outside, a full view of them dimly lit from my seated position on the bed. I don't see what the the lights are attatched to, just glowing ovals of orange. I hear everything, disguised as a muffle of white noise; cars. This is what peace feels like. I visualize the entire country, the entire world, the oceans, the little boys and girls who grow up thinking that their abductors who maybe molested and rented them, are their mothers and fathers. I am exonerated from the anxiety of the perpetual questions, what can I do, what can I do, and where the hell am I from, never mind where I am going. How can I help? These questions have ceased to live and taunt me in this moment. Someone so young should never have a heavy heart, but that is sadly what our youth, the youth that I am a member of, experience, sometimes for the rest of their lives. How can someone with so many years ahead to fall together take their existence so seriously? Maybe seriously enough to lay down and die by their hurt. Listen not to your elder's "wisdom", if you are able to decipher it just as their undying hurt from child to adulthood. They will never truly experience life. Learn on your own. I know now, that I couldn't wrap my brain around the lack of wisdom or appreciation or gratitude of life from grown men and women. Those were my parents, living for their lunch breaks and nice and stupid television shows each night before they grow older and die, as the sixteen year old boy who may have once been their son, but now is his own boy, was never prepared to realize that he would some day be an older boy, growing into a man. When I see photos of your children, or I see a mother laughing and a father stroking his son's hair lovingly, I hurt that this really was reality and not a movie script, that I never got to experience. I feel the love in me I could one day give my child, but now can never recieve from my absent mother and father and siblings. I realize my responsibility, my capability, now, and I can no longer go a day more feeling like I don't want to be the age I am, but younger. Because I am not a little boy, but I am not yet a man. I like the fact that I'm gay because I think it adds character and understanding to my male soul. Aside from teenage hormones, and loving men and boys, I feel both the feminine and masculine spectrum, and I am not afraid to live through both of them. I'm not sure when this peculiar aggression had grown inside of me, but it is there, seemingly living its own life, causing frustration of want in me. The want to feel another boy, as soft and smooth as I now could never be without a very painful hot wax, his soft lips, my fingers gently dancing through his hair, as I hold him tight, and hum him into slumber. Or the want of a man in his thirties, stocky and strong, but gentle and fuzzy in the right places, he and I in a warm tight embrace, wrapped around each other like a pair of contracted rattlesnakes, his fingers dance gently across my neck and down my spine. This time, its not about the thrill of the illegal daddy/boy roleplay I'd thought about since age 5, but its just about the converging of males alike. Just a nightly reflection of my boyhood.