"Just Sex"

I have realized now that when I give you my body, the damage that is the result of our collision is more than a flesh wound. My soul is intact, my spirit, however, grows ill with the cheap representation of my self, and when you look into my eyes you still see my pain, my joy, my love that I can’t help but to feel in the moment we connect. You see it, and I can’t help how you respond to it. And you can’t really help it either. This is more than a game, this is me, sick and sad, trying to get my perceived needs met through you, your energy is everything and nothing I can have, and I indulge until I am nauseated. I give myself to you in ways that are unfair in that I know I have no intention of letting you keep what I offer. I want you to offer more than I want what you give, because somehow that feels like I am worth more than I remember. I replace your socks on your feet so they don’t get cold.
I have given myself away, over and over again to so many hands and hearts. I make myself between your thighs and I know what to do because I have learned how to please you before we ever met. You don’t know the damage I have done to myself. To you I am a novelty, a toy, an experiment. Perhaps you think I can be salvaged and saved and that your kindness will gradually melt away the hardness in me. You are not the first who has had this idea…in fact, I have considered this possibility myself. Maybe You are my salvation. You can save me. You can dust me off and rinse me clean and wring me out and I will smile sweetly and brightly and call you Honey and we can cuddle and watch HGTV and I will cook dinner for your parents and my mouth that you’ve fucked with your silicone cock will cease to produce four-letter words except for when we fuck, of course…and then you won’t mind a little of my filth resurfacing. You are trying to get inside me, I sense this violation and I allow enough of it to take some of the fault. It feels reassuring when you touch me like you love me, like I matter, like you are paying respects to me with your tongue and your fingers. You have learned how to touch me and we have grown too appreciative, despite intentions. And now the lines are blurry and my black and white is cloudy grey and I am sad because this Isn’t what we are both trying to make it. We both knew it never would be, we knew and we came here anyway. What damage can be done? How can it be gauged? Who will bear the pain and where with it manifest? These are questions that will remain questions until I stop calling you back, stop sharing my most precious, beautiful, sacred moments with you, who could never know or understand or accept me in the daylight. Our arrangement cannot be experienced in the presence of the sun. Yet that is where I want to live.

Untitled

Though difficult to fathom

I’ve always been along

Identified and cherished

Held tightly, loved, and

Bound…

my focus has shifted

again and again

our eyes gaining new

Losing shape

holding time

resilient skin

I pull away

my thoughts will follow…

ruminating

in disbelief

of what has missed me

what, in turn

have I missed?

not you

You I have known in ways

I would not ask to

You I have seen

Incandescently

You have clung

Relentlessly

this final thread

of ties worn thin

severed by my hand

and there, then, you go

floating up out away

as I stumble

scraping skin

reaching out pitifully

catch me

catch me

catch me

and you are too far

in faith to see

That I am caught.

And so it begins

As it ends

Again and again and again…