paradoxical

ah yes, the lion king, my favorite porno

Six years old

as I finally watch the movie for the first time,

at an age I am conscious enough to remember

and process what I am watching.

The Lion King plays on the screen.

I watch Simba's lovestruck stare at Nala, dopey eyes and a lazy smile.

They kiss—

or at least, I think.

My eyes are quickly shielded,

my right eye covered by the calloused hand of my dad,

rough and battered after years of gym trips

and keyboard killing.

My left eye covered by the smooth hand of my mom,

the smell of shea butter lingering due to

her moisturizing obsession.

It seems I am not allowed to watch such vulgar

Promiscuous

Inappropriate

Overtly Sexual

Explicit content

of two animated lions kissing.

Their hands finally cease their censoring

and I am eight years old

Shifting uncomfortably on the blacktop of the playground

listening to my friends talk about their crushes

They call boys cute and nice

and plot to hug behind the old tree during recess next week

I never thought black pebbles could be so captivating

and I swear to myself I cannot see or hear or feel anything but them

The black pebbles, that is

Most certainly nothing else

I move the pebbles far away from each other

as they should be

They should not be touching

or kissing or hugging at their young innocent age

The black pebbles, that is

There are no hands for censoring

I picture them anyways

The whistle blows and the hands drop from my eyes

I am in gym class

twelve years old, running laps up and down the wooden floors

The whistle blows again

And the gym is flooded with boys

The masculine stench of sweat and puberty permeates the air

I glance over to my friends

who have inched away from me towards the boys' side

They giggle and wave to the boy they sit next to in Algebra

They talk about how exciting it is to have co-ed gym class

With their boyfriends

I am suddenly more aware of myself

I feel I am floating outside my body

watching myself do things wrong that don't even have

a correct way to be done in the first place

My lip bleeding from the attack by teeth

I do not know how

I do not know how to be that girl

I remind myself in the moment of weakness that

I should not want to be her in the first place

There are no hands for censoring

I picture them anyways

My name is yelled.

The hands drop from my eyes.

-

I am eighteen, looking into his eyes

A cozy, furnished basement in my peripheral

My hands clasped by bigger, paler, more masculine ones

A look of concern plastered onto his attractive features

My boyfriend's features

He asks why I will not lie next to him

After we engage in intimate activities

Why I won't cuddle with him

Why I just sit there staring at the door

Months pass and he is begging

He is begging me to show that I love him

He is pleading for me to be more like them

To want to hold his hand

To want to sneak quick kisses in public

To tell him I love him when I know he needs it

To tell him at all

Or at least to lie next to him after sex

He is begging

He does not know that I can't give him what he wants

because I am not allowed to

and I don't know how

Because he is holding the hands that have done

nothing but keep me from seeing

exactly what he's begged me for

for the last seven months

They know not how to be hands

any more than they know not to be a shroud

-

There are no hands for censoring

The hands are too busy sleeping in different bedrooms

Too busy scolding me for calling a guy "cute"

Too busy banning me from premarital sex

Too busy questioning me after I hang out at any gathering

Too busy telling me to focus on grades

Too busy fighting quietly in the kitchen when they think I am asleep

I wish the hands were too busy holding each other.

Why couldn't they be too busy to censor because they were holding each other?

Why couldn't they have been too busy to censor ever?

What did I never get to see and why can't I see it now?

Even when your hands aren't there to hide it from me anymore?

There are no hands this time

but I blink

and I am 19

lying in bed staring at the ceiling wondering

Did Nala and Simba ever really kiss?