• Poetry

    playing games

    all this is, is a fling

    i remind myself as you grab my waist

    all this is, is a fling

    i repeat in my head as you hasten

    to pull your shirt over your muscular back

    allowing my fingertips to explore the expanse of your chest

    inhibitions, we lack

    all this is, is a fling

    i feel the words form in my mouth

    but then your tongue pushes its way in

    knocking them out

    your body forces me down onto your bed

    your body covers mine

    and you seek to pull apart my threads

    all this is, is a fling

    i grapple with the meaning of those words

    because i constantly seem to forget

    my heart subverts

    these fucking words in my head

    your lips are kissing and sucking down my body now

    i’m so hot and turned on now

    you’re torturing me

    both physically and emotionally

    why can’t you fucking stay?

    why can’t you please fucking stay?

    all this is, is a fling

    i clench my teeth when i remember

    that there is no future come the spring

    because you’re leaving at the end of december

    this is just a fling, Vic

    i finally accept it

    and every time i do, i feel sick

    but then that feeling is quickly replaced with elation

    © 2018 Vic Romero

    All Rights Reserved

    #repost

  • Short Stories,  Speaking My Mind

    Greyness

    Of course, he had decided to take the highway.  There was no traffic on the highway, so there was no stopping.  He must’ve known that if there was an opportunity to jump out of the car, I would’ve taken it.

    I slumped down further in the passenger seat, my arms crossed over my body protectively as his words sliced through my skin.  He said we were having this conversation because he loves me, but I wasn’t feeling loved at all.  It wasn’t even a conversation; it was a lecture.  A lecture about me.  About what’s wrong with me.

  • Speaking My Mind,  unzipped lips

    Throwing Drunken Tantrums in the City Streets

    Every Friday night, I vow I will not hook up with him.

    I don’t want to hook up with him.  I never cum.  Because I don’t let him touch me. Because he doesn’t make me feel safe because he’s aggressive in a nonconsensual way.  I also don’t want to enjoy it.  Because then I will begin to actually like him.  And I can’t like him because he doesn’t like me.  And he’s too similar to my ex anyway.

    Regardless, once the weekend rolls around and I’ve had enough drinks, I am all over him.  And then I wake up naked and alone, feeling stupid.

  • Short Stories,  Speaking My Mind

    A Short Tale About A Tall Guy and the Shitty, Short “Relationship” I Had With Him (possibly to be continued)

    Told in the Form of Facebook Messages

    I met a guy I liked but he came on too strong so I told him I just wanted to be friends..we got drunk and then he convinced me we should kiss cuz people do it and ever since we’ve been hooking up

    All the affection from hooking up has caused me to like him again, along with getting to know him better like he’s a nice guy but now I’m just not sure

  • Short Stories,  Speaking My Mind

    Woo Me

    I ran into one of the friends that had said they were coming to my birthday bash but never showed up, at the dining hall.  She apologized..apparently her pre-party nap caused her to sleep through the whole party.  We ate breakfast together and chatted, it was really nice.

    I had met her at a party about a month ago because she was friends with a girl who was friends with my friend.  I liked her instantly and got her number, but I did not anticipate using it.  I didn’t think I was going to see her again and when I’m drunk, I tend to collect the phone numbers of people I talk to for at least a minute, and I don’t usually contact them again.

    But then I saw her again at another party and we talked the whole night.  She’s super attractive and has a sexy voice so when she informed me that she just had a nasty breakup with her boyfriend and that she’s bi, I wanted to be the one to make her forget all about him.

  • Poetry,  Speaking My Mind

    playing games

    all this is, is a fling

    i remind myself as you grab my waist

    all this is, is a fling

    i repeat in my head as you hasten

    to pull your shirt over your muscular back

    allowing my fingertips to explore the expanse of your chest

    inhibitions, we lack

    all this is, is a fling

    i feel the words form in my mouth

    but then your tongue pushes its way in

    knocking them out

    your body forces me down onto your bed

    your body covers mine

    and you seek to pull apart my threads

    all this is, is a fling

    i grapple with the meaning of those words

    because i constantly seem to forget

    my heart subverts

    these fucking words in my head

    your lips are kissing and sucking down my body now

    i’m so hot and turned on now

    you’re torturing me

    both physically and emotionally

    why can’t you fucking stay?

    why can’t you please fucking stay?

    all this is, is a fling

    i clench my teeth when i remember

    that there is no future come the spring

    because you’re leaving at the end of december

    this is just a fling, Vic

    i finally accept it

    and every time i do, i feel sick

    but then that feeling is quickly replaced with elation

    © 2015 Vic Romero

  • Poetry

    Heroin(e)

    Crossing the road with the crowd
    Passed a boy with brown hair
    He was going the other way,
    With another crowd
    Yet he picked me out.
    His eyes caught mine,
    Hazel and big
    But he kept walking
    Back turned to me then,
    Retreating
    As he went to the other side

    And I thought as I walked,
    That he looked awfully familiar
    Then I coughed
    Because someone exhaled
    Cigarette smoke into my face
    I turned around again
    To see if I actually knew him
    But at that point he was too far away

    I continued to walk down the block,
    Walking many blocks
    Paying no mind to the time the clocks tell
    A lone saxophonist played
    His music circled my hips
    I couldn’t help but to sway
    The passion he felt was evident in what he played
    I wish I had that passion
    Or at least enthusiasm
    For something, anything
    I paid him a dollar for the song,
    Before moving on

    And I thought as I walked,
    That that song sounded awfully familiar
    Then I coughed
    Because someone exhaled
    Cigarette smoke into my face
    I tried humming the tune
    To see if I actually knew it
    But at that point its notes were forgotten in my brain

    Rounding the corner of Bleecker street,
    The pavement slapping against my feet
    Passed a sex shop
    Posters covered the windows and walls
    Stragglers walked in
    Drool running down their chins
    And I remembered

    I remembered as I walked
    That the boy from before was an old lover
    And that song was played when we first met each other
    And the sex shop became my way to find satisfaction
    But ultimately I lost all of my passion

    Then I thought as I walked
    That I had no idea where I was going
    I opted to take shots
    Because my memories were too noisy
    I headed for the Blind Tiger
    But money I lacked
    Because I had lost my job when I was with my boss on my back

    I remembered as I walked
    Hating that I could still remember
    I thought that I had forgotten what I forgot
    All this stuff that happened last December
    I suppose forgetting isn’t that hard
    But forgetting what’s forgotten is the challenge
    Perhaps with more heroin,
    I’ll be able to forget
    And find passion and direction.

    © 2013 Vic Romero

  • Speaking My Mind

    Slutty Sunday (and Saturday)- Our Second-Chance Birthday Weekend

    This weekend was amazing.

    My girlfriend (we got back together on Monday, September 8th at like 2:30am) just left about a little bit ago.  I feel really sad…like I started crying a little bit but I think that’s mostly because I’m homesick and now that she’s gone I’m alone again.  But I do think a part of me is really sad because I’m scared because…I feel kinda ruined.

  • Speaking My Mind

    “Prama”- noun, slang for Prom Drama

    In my post about my coming out to my friend yesterday, I neglected to mention that I got my prom dress yesterday as well.

    I am dreading prom because there is an excessive amount of “prama” around it.

    Girls in my school, and across the nation, make prom Facebook groups to post the dresses that they buy and threaten other girls to not buy those same dresses.  I’m serious.  Look it up.  It was on Yahoo! News once.  No girl wants to match.