i never believed i could be sexually. sex, intimacy, the feeling of another man's hands or mouth near mine turns my blood cold—as lactic acid forcibly freezes me in place. breath hitching, i never thought i'd be able to place myself in a sexual position. i spent so long instinctively shying away from platonic touch i never paused to wonder why i—the kind of person who finds more value in shared, gentle touches than any gift or word ever given—could no longer be within a hair's breath of a man's touch; uncomfortably suffering through gentle hugs from female friends. my dreams, absolutely ravaged, i would lose sleep in sexual assault. and the moment i finally allowed myself to utter the words "he assaulted me" did i finally understand my loss of love for shared being.
sexually stunted, i turned to the less intimidating gender: calmer, kinder, gentler, lingering softer touches, magnetism. and while i've come to terms with my sapphic nature, i struggle with my being pursued by the male gender: rougher, outspoken, assertive, commanding touches, electric. laying face-to-face, enveloped in long, warm arms, electricity peppering through the centimeters of space between our lips, he kisses me. consensually positioning himself above me, the freezing swelter of motionlessness sets in. lightly flinching as he runs his hands over me, i attempt to convince him that i'm fine. because i am fine. my body has yet to realize that touch from a male is not always evil, that i can enjoy this, lust after this even. that i am not dirty or condemned, that sexually i can be me without resorting back to my fear induced lactic acid frozen self.
i'd spend the next few days with a pit of nausea in my stomach, effectively ruining the memories as i replay them so often they lose meaning and worsen the ocean of vomit inside me. i find myself wondering whether i should've consented. and if it felt so good, and i enjoyed it—why must i be tormented by it now? addictively nauseating, i long to feel him again.
sexually frustrated i yearn to separate my wounded bird-like self who was all to ready to lay down and submit to the depths of hell sexual assault causes, from my newfound outlook on life where i am to prove to myself that i can feel sexual without feeling violated.
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the night the stars fell - poetry collection
PoetryPLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS this poetry collection includes themes and descriptions of: sexual violence/assault/harassment PTSD hallucinations depression anxiety self harm disordered eating in my experience feeling seen through works of writ...
