Shackled: An Exploration of Infatuation Through Poetry
Bringing Depth and Dimension to the Experience of Infatuation Through Poetry and Visual Art
I have not been having the best luck with boys lately. I’m at a point in my life where I find myself talking to a guy and very quickly asking myself, “Is he the one?” This self-inquiry is odd to me because it seems like such an old-person thing to ask, and I’m just a wittle baby. I’ve been thinking more intently about what I want in a long-term partner and how I want to show up in a relationship. Are some of the things that were important to me in my twenties and thirties still important now?
I’ve also found myself meeting guys who are great to hang out with, but we aren’t sexually compatible. Which is an issue that is largely unique to gay relationships. As children we learn very early that the triangle doesn’t fit into the circle. But when we get older, we realize that anything can go into the circle. All you need is a little enthusiasm. ;)
For the past five years, I’ve made it my New Year’s Resolution to be more enthusiastic, and at this point, I have to ask myself, who am I kidding? I’m a great triangle. I love being a triangle. Hordes of men would openly weep in the streets if I stopped being a triangle! Ok, maybe not. But some of them act that way!
I’ve found myself shooting my shot at a few guys recently, three since January, to be exact, and I’ve been rejected by all of them. It’s been humbling and, dare I say, necessary. Maybe this is God telling me to sit my ass down in a corner somewhere and think about the relational atrocities that I’ve committed. So much of my life has been defined by jumping off of a cliff and building a plane on the way down. But my last plane crashed.
I survived, but it’s possible that I need to take some more time to examine the wreckage and stop relying on Boeing's safety standards. It’s possible that I need to stop getting so sprung on dudes, stop shooting my shot, and just let chips fall where they may. That’s not who I am, though. I’m not the type of guy to bat my eyelashes at you and wait around until you notice. If I like you, I’m going to tell you. The desire to want to be in a relationship makes me feel like such a loser. I’ve been in NYC for ten years as an adult and spent six of those years in relationships.
I’m down bad, sis! How can I have a Hot Girl Summer when I’m a sad boy mess? I don’t even want a Hot Girl Summer. I want a Boo’d Up Summer.
Anyway, I’ve been in this moment lately where I’ve been reaping some of the benefits of putting my art into the world. Even when I thought that art sucked. Even when it was incomplete. It’s felt empowering.
This funk I’ve found myself in reminded me of a few summers ago when I was sprung over this boy and wrote a poem about it. That same Summer, I was captivated by a video poetry presentation by Keioui Keijaun Thomas on Fire Island, where her words came alive not just through voice but juxtaposed with visuals and movement. I wanted to bring that multidimensional power to my own written work.
I wrote "Shackled: Lost in Infatuation" while caught up in the dizzying emotions of a new crush. Rereading it now, some lines make me cringe at just how lovestruck I sound. Infatuation occasionally makes fools of us all. Rather than locking those memories away out of shame, this is me embracing the full experience of those emotions—confusion, attraction, and all.