Long Pauses

Hi,

I haven’t written in a while, but maybe I have never stopped.

I have been thinking a lot lately, about the construct of who I am as a person and all what makes me, you know, me.

     Funny I know since I spent most of the past 10 years figuring that out, without a clear conclusion. Mostly a blurred-out line that started to plateau after a certain age. Was it 22? My first heartbreak, me realizing how all heartbreaks are similar and stem out of denial of what you thought would be yours?

Was it 24? With me breaking every taboo I know to feel more? To love harder? To experience my existence with a greater depth?

Was it 25? With me opening up my mind to see what’s really there?

26? 27? 28? 29?

Getting wasted?

Falling in love again and again?

Kissing under the rain?

Opening up my body in an attempt to detach from a physical being only to confine myself even more?

Baggage.

Emotional baggage. Long dark alleyways filled with dust, blood and almost forgotten people, but not quite.

You’d think after a certain age that, too, plateaus and you stop filling your alleyways. But that’s not true.

The rooms are overflooding with mess and despair and I was never one for cleaning up.

Cleaning up my traumas.

Cleaning up my broken heart and the rest of the broken hearts left in there.

How hard is it to look for something in a crowded room? How hard it is to see despite the noise? To feel with your heart bleeding out for love and contracting against a stiff muscle?

Hold me.

Look at me like you always have, like you’re seeing me for the first time. Like you’re reading me from a smile.

And for the first time, I am looked at for beyond skin.

I am standing here half foot in, the other halves shivering in the cold. You got me wrong, what I was trying to say that I’ll eventually disappoint myself.

Sex and other things;

Hmm tricky topic?

Dare I speak?

Dare I have an opinion?

Dare I be anything but an object groomed my entire life for one thing, without a right to experience it for my own desire?

Excuse me, I was not groomed for it, I was groomed to receive it. Silently, obediently and acceptingly.

What shames a man really? When he is given all right to be whatever, to feel whatever, to do whatever.

But I, a little woman, I can’t be without feeling faded, used, contaminated.

Stained forever with a scarlet letter burned against my back, or ass at this point it doesn’t really matter.

My first time was heavy, like I wasn’t even there, was I? It felt like yes finally mission accomplished I am done.

Stuck here forever.

No turning back.

To be touched by a man who’s not trembling with insecurities in front of who you are.

Damn it!

Not again!

You’re supposed to burn me up not make me pity you, again!

I don’t bite, in here I am just skin colliding onto yours, treat me as such.

Don’t love me, make me scream your name.

What good are men unable to give what I’ve been groomed to receive?

Congratulations, you’ve manage to twist every love anyone tried to give you into somewhere under your pillow.

Why?

Scared of feeling or too proud to really give?

Or this is just normal and people are too stupid to admit?

Why does it always come down to this? You claim to your liberalism only to value your greatest worth on the best head you’ve given.

Is this your fear of a real connection, what remains of the chains of oppression, or a distorted idea to where your freedom really lays?

After years and years of all the whatevers, I guess I finally got it.

There is no depth to feelings, it is either there or it isn’t.

My total physical freedom is not about how much detached “just sex” I have, because I am a hedonistic strong woman who acknowledges desire. It isn’t about the 16 tattoos I have, piercings, tanned skin, short hair and all the rest that doesn’t fit the ideal feminine physicality.

My total physical freedom is not about how dismissive and “chill” I am to men who are too immature and careless to be responsible for their feelings -and mine-. And how uncaringly I let them invade my body.

My total physical freedom is me saying no. I want what I want because I fully want it. Because I control my being and I am not to allow any disruptive energy around me. To give love and receive love without shaming myself out of it.

Because even as a strong woman I am still a girl who wants to be loved and cuddled, and my absolute freedom is my ability to admit to that.