my art was just a whisper.
look at this, i'd say, and lose my courage.
no! not that!
i'd pull away the words i'd made before it could be seen.
the truth.
my experience spelled out.
here are things that no sixth grader should know.
like how to welcome a cock down her throat
like how to curl her fingers up inside a girl so she presses her hips down into the mattress
like how to tell a man just what he should do
to her to make her cum.
i was trapped.
it was simply excruciating.
to be seen as innocent
to feel the boundaries of that
word
and not be able to live it.
to stand up from english class
to call back a thirty-year-old banker
and tell him how
wet i am for you yes please fuck me oh yes like that deeper faster harder yes please—
and to cut myself off
when i heard someone walk into
the bathroom.
