I never went to the High Line or sucked transgender clit or dick. I never asked for three
free samples at Milk Bar’s lower eastside locale; it’s just that I never find enough to lick.
I never asked a stranger to pull over his car so I could take a hot dump in the woods. I
never took off my old white panties to use as toilet paper and even if I wanted to abandon
them in that forest and go home dirty-commando, I don’t know that I could.
I never went to sex parties; I never broke my finger getting penetrated on a broken table
I never ran a marathon in Ireland because though my limbs always survive, they are
petrified and are not all that able. I never got a Hot Richard from Betty Grable
I never stole the concept of a “Hot Richard” from 30 Rock. I never flipped
over a lecher-professor’s table and signed it with my friends. I never say “The End”
when I finish a story because I know, I know, I know things can never end.
I never experience rage when I realize that I’ve merely rhymed a word with itself.
I never bent over to tie my shoe and farted. I’ve never left a kind person broken-hearted
in Halifax or given flack to those who hoard bric-a-brac while subletting my apartment.
I never know best. I usually do worse than you’d expect. I never crowed at anyone to
come out of the closet. I never laughed at their mothers for being rich snotty fuckers
with an exceedingly low tolerance for anything worthwhile. I never let a friend extract
all my back’s blackheads. I never blueballed anybody or believed in that concept or
masturbated to the opera Bluebeard. I’ve never been weird; I’ve never been
fat; I’ve never worried the back of my neck looks like a pack of hot dogs.
I’ve never owned a [ ] and never put it in you. I never, ever, really know what to
do but I never let that stop me. I didn’t laugh when you told me you peed in a yogurt cup
when my roomie was in the shower. I didn’t go see all the Twilight movies by myself;
I’m not the Captain of Team Jacob. I never tried on Mom’s special occasion make-up.
I never find pus charming. I never take too many headache pills. I still have never, though
I likely will, eat more than my fill at a sushi buffet and barf a nori yarn-ball later that day.
I never play mental Tetris. I never type out what you’re saying with my fingertips against
my jeans. I’ve never been lean or mean, a Bacardi Breezer-guzzler, or a Prayer Machine.
I never use my Pay-Per-View service to order Karaoke and sing to myself all night. I
didn’t order Girls Night Out, Pure Shania, Madonna Classics, or anything of the sort.
I never was pregnant with Jesus. I never cried, abort, abort, abort, abort!
I never read a poem about someone who was in the audience. Psych!
I never biked to a high school hockey game. I never dreamt of gay jocks self-destructing
on ice. I’d never hold up crude posters about the other team. That would not be nice.
I have never fucked people who want to be straight. What would be the point? I was
never anointed by holy oils by holy men in holy places through the haze of a holy joint.
I never saw young dead
Father Dan in my dreams.
I never laughed when I met my mom’s priest with his white shorts, white belt, and
handsome companion-man. I never was a heretic bent over in hysterics when
Mom said the priest was on his way to a sabbatical in San Fran. I never brainstormed
a eulogy for someone who hadn’t died. I watched The Muppets but no I did not cry.
I hurt you and you me but tell me if I lie
when I say that we never tried.
I never didn’t go to the High Line. I never chose not to take a Percocet with a large bag of
Cheezies. I never failed to not be easy. I’ve never binged. I’ve never not purged. I didn’t
not slice my finger off, so I never did not go to Emerg. I’ve never hated the word “perv”
and I never missed a pedestrian by one small swerve. I never didn’t secretly think that
you have a personality disorder. I never didn’t judge your drinking. I’ve never had
a cavity search at the border. I’ve never regretted a hasty Subway order and I’ve
never eaten for three. I’ve never not refused to make do with too few black olives
on a foot-long and I’ve never expected anything or anyone to be or to feel “free.”
I never am unannoyed by the imperative to be happy, by the belief in utter
truth, by the smell of my colostomy, or by the lie that I have a colostomy.
I’ve never prevented anyone from not being close to me, which means I never
stop you from seeing too much of what I don’t want you to not want to see.
I never memorized “To Be or Not To Be” and I never didn’t disidentify with every
single letter of LGBT. I never played pool at the dyke bar. I could never find a cue.
I never jerked off on a full bus with a Cosmo mag.
I never promised that every word would be true.
I never rely on my inability not to lie when I stand on the High Line. I never pen lines
without a doubt as to how they’ll turn out or if someone will recite one when I die.
I never thought you needed to know “who I am”
only that I never, ever, lie, High Line.