TRISTAN'S MOON

Poetry: Smash Street Safe House


sometimes i am thinking they/ tie me, untie me/ a poem by tim

sometimes i am thinking they would drive a saner man crazy/ or over jagged rocks and then push him out to sea/ i am always drifting/ never anywhere too long/ anywhere too long is dangerous/ you do not really know me/ since i am already quite mad/ according to the internet/ i can’t do anything about that/ how many whores have had another name/ mine were usually irish, or other ethnicities or genders, i just don’t care about it/ sometimes i think that the term: sex work is wrong for survival sex/ survival sex seems more like the street to me/ it’s stigma out on the street that will kill you/ with a knife, whatever/ hunger’s a bitch/ more likely, you get beat up a lot until you get too street wise and you do not get beat up at all/ that thirty mile stare/ it’s the stigma that will fuck you in the ass/ the kids i deal with are traumatized/ not by sex, by stigma/ sticking your bowels open with a sword/ we write poetry/ sometimes i just transcribe/ the we were once this and this and this in the past and look at all the blur over here/ that or every word is sacred/ in a world where nothing is scared/ especially the street/ they don’t think poetry is just “for faggots” anymore/ sometimes i am thinking they might survive/ sometimes, not/


Sometimes I Do, a poem by Max

I am not a faggot. I will not suck your cock. You will never fuck me because I am no fag. Faggots are faggots and they make me puke. I piss on fags. I shit in their mouths. I tie them up. I slap them around. I take their money. I call them hey fag and hey homo. So I am never the fag but the homos sneak into my bed at night. And I hold them. That does not make me a faggot. To be a fag you gotta like to get fucked. That is a homo. That is what homos want. I fistfuck fags. A faggot is someone who sucks my cock. I only don’t charge one homo. I like him. We drink beer together and get high. I’m high now. Fucking faggots. I am not a homo but sometimes I do.


he got real mad, a poem by Jimmy

.

.

.

…he got

real mad…

.

.

.

…when he

found out….

.

.

.

…i have

a cock…

.

.

.

…i never

asked for

no cock…

.

.

.

…he tied

me up

and made

me wear…

.

.

.

…the mask

he said

he was

going to

cut my

cock off…

.

.

.

…i said

go ahead…





I Ran Away Because, a poem by DeMarion

I ran away because the boys in my town tried to kill me.

I ran away because I hated school.

I ran away because my dad.

I ran away from bad things.

I ran away because I was already dead.

I ran away because I stole a car.

I ran away because I was in a prison.

I ran away because a court date.

I ran away because the cops.

I ran away because they will not let me graduate.

I ran away because I am stupid and can barely read.

I ran away because I wanted drugs.

I ran away because I do not care no more.

I ran away because I do not like his cum in my mouth.

I ran away because I need help.

I ran away so I can learn to read.

I ran away to help me learn to read.

I ran away because I hate adults.

I ran away because a job.

.

.

I ran away and I lived in a ditch.

I ran away and the cops are looking for me.

I ran away and I suck cock in cars.

I ran away and my arms got tracks.

I ran away and I have AIDS.

I ran away and I lived in a pipe.

I ran away and no one will hire me.

I ran away and a drug dealer.

I ran away and I will pay him back.


I

Never Told Him About the HIV, a poem by Ryan

one cop

fucked me

in the

backseat

of his car

he ripped me

open and

made me bleed

then he

took my money

and I never

told him

about the hiv

i have it

and then when

he was

slapping me

around

i kept thinking

i hope

he beats me

until I

bleed buckets

of my

infected blood

on him

and I hope

he fucking

dies



Trolling 4 Tricks, a poem by Joseph

when

U get into their cars

you never really know where the trick will take you

i took photographs with my iphone

i hid in my coat of their 

license plates and by the time

i got into that car

that photograph will be

in a file at a safe place

the cops did not know

about no safe place because

they would want those files

so we were off a lot of grids

like having sex with tricks

who pay 2 fuck w/ you

and you have HIV but you

R not telling no trick who is

fucking your hole shit about

who you R or what U might have

bc that is the last thing

a trick 2 know where you live

 

one had a gun he showed me

after he came in me and he felt

all bad about fucking a boy

in the ass at the side of some

rest area off the highway I

am gonna B on 2 escape this

place where i lived and

i did get out of there like

cold turkey is something i

might do now if it is safe

and i will not get yanked into

no JV jack off

where they will really

rape you in foster care

or prison i been raped

lota times bc when you

say stop they already know

U are just a kid and so now

if you tell him you have

HIV that gun he has could

do anything and you want

them 2 cum and pull the

fuck out

 

so 1 time this

trick takes me home and

fucks my hole in his son’s

bed bc the family was away

 

and i guess he could pretend

i was his son and he wanted

me to eat his shit but i charge

extra for that bc sometimes U

thro up on the trick and it stinks

and i hate it when U better

walk home bc U do not

want to B in no car with

mister family man who will

put his own gun in his own

mouth if his family finds out

and i will feel bad if he has

a son and i know this bc

when my own dad was fucking

me i used to think this will be

over in a minute but then some

tricks want 2 play they love

you and they might want to

put their tongues down your throat

and i think maybe HIV is in spit

and i am always thinking that

when they lube my hole with spit

and if R the son U do not

really want 2 know

 

 

he has HIV and U never really

know what a trick will do next

and you R so in a hurry 2 get

out of there that you forget to shit

out his cum and you think

the cum is coming out when

you run like i had to run

that whole night in the dark

and it was very cold so he did

not pay me and if i ever

see him again I am gonna

kick his ass and I will call

his wife he has HIV if i

feel like it it is like you

have this secret power over

this cocksucker you fucking hate

that is my poem by Joseph



Ding Dong Ditch Him, a poem by Terry

All these tricks I had lived in the same neighborhood. So many were my friends dads you know. So we ding dong ditched them for a hole day until we got caught. Like who they gonna call? My parents? You ring the bell and then you run. They say those damn kids. But they know what they did and I want stuff like an iPad they will buy me. You need stuff in life. So you ding dong ditch them until they pay up.



Corner, a poem by Kyten

I am surrender

I am capitulation

I am satyr

I am resignation

I am on my knees

I am hated

I am desire

 

I am intimidation

I am a soup kitchen

I am a runaway

I am a father

I am contempt

I am derision

I am hunger

I am sleeping in a dumpster

I am HIV

I am they don’t have to know

I am shackles

I am secrets

 

I am whipped

I am cock

I am naked in a cage

I am merchandise

I am beaten up

I am robbed

 

I am dust

I am your husband’s little fuck

I am your husband

I am your son

I am your neighbor

I am out here to survive


Mi moto ha quemado el Mundo por José

La frontera me mantuvo fuera. Me estaba muriendo de hambre.

¿Cómo alimentar a los niños. Embers.

Y el dolor. Bailar en el humo.



Walking to school by Blair

They were right.


I


was


a


faggot.


I am still a
faggot. Cocksucker. I suck cock.
I sell it. To.
Their. Fathers.

 

Please don’t tell they beg.

 

I’m telling.




Buckets of Blood by Sergei


Silence with which I can wash my hands in Krovi.

Epichesky men in black.

Before the Storm Snow witness my laundry and wash mine,

I can not get my hands clean.

Where blood and mud and snow

sticks to the track trucks make

on the road leading north to the prison.


Mine is a bucket of blood I became.

Contaminated.


Nothing again. Whose blood is it? mine. mine.



Temprano
en la mañana
con los gatos por José

Yo siempre llegaba a casa con los gatos.

Temprano en la mañana y mis bolsillos con el dinero.

Mi familia y yo fingía no saber qué era lo que hacía.

Pero era el único dinero que tenía.

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