there was a boy who spent a lot of his time running. he had been running for as long as he could remember. and if you asked, he would be hard pressed to tell you when it really began. he knew that he was different and part of him thought that was special and another part of him viewed himself as revolting. but his libido and his chemical makeup consistently created urges that propelled him forward as a sexually active youth who could be considered deviant.
he left home at 16 because the battle inside was too much to bear feeling isolated and trapped in his suburban existence. just like the lou reed song directed, he had to take a walk on the wild side in order to breathe. he ran to the nearest urban mecca he could find. he had already been scoping it out and knew there were similar vibratory souls around. he was very young, but he didn’t care. he knew that anything that could happen could be no worse than the nothings that continued to happen in his life as it was.
he became a rent boy as it was almost a perfect next step. he had already been sexually active for quite some time and had learned to communicate with men on this level. and getting paid for this activity seemed only too good to be true. as it turned out, it wasn’t that good at all. he found himself being objectified in ways he could never have dreamed, and a return of sadness bubbled up now and again amidst all the drugs, alcohol, and recreational sex that averted much of his attention.
a symptom of youth for him was perhaps that he so often got what he wanted. sadly though, this synchronicity was heavily low lighted by his constantly numbed demeanor and his inability to think even slightly big. or maybe it was that he had switched on survival mode early on and hadn’t had the where-with-all to get beyond instinct. it seemed he was bright, but not really smart. and he was hurt, but never really cried. and he barrelled through this part of his teens just like he was endlessly running with his head tucked and his arm out trying to find the goal.
he would pick up tricks for money now and again for the first coupla years he arrived. and he made himself available for free fun, too. on more than one occasion he emerged from situations which chipped away at his naivete and his sense of wonder. he was used, he was abused, he was ridden hard, and he was discarded quickly. he didn’t lose hope. because this myriad of abrasion he lost himself in, felt somehow deserved and familiar. he had hated and hidden so much of his nature, that by this stage of the game, he was conditioned to expect very little to actually put in his pocket. by the same token, he had no reason to think that life would not continue to reveal opportunities. he developed a deeper sense that he had little or no real value, and as long as he could numb, he could continue,,,, really….. no problem. at least not yet.
experience and self-worth are strange things. they link in ways that we rarely suppose. and the path we choose to survive our pain often defines life’s challenges as our road is mapped out and paved. this is a truth for this boy. assumptions and conclusion made during these formative years still tend to line the birdcage of his soul. lined with the discarded copies of his chemical romance.