He Likes Me Cause….

He likes me ’cause I’m:
Different. Breakable. Needy. Tiny. Forbidden. Smart. High and low class. A good conversation. A challenge. A conquest. Conquering. A conqueror. Sexy. An affirmation of life. Caffeine and sugar. A consolation. A man. A woman. Interested. Interesting. The giver. Accepting. The exception. Non-judgmental. Special. Exciting. Dirty and innocent, but not naïve. Indecent. Wrong and right. A reminder. A secret. A lie. A comfort. Uncomfortable. Someone to care about and for. Imaginary. New. Old. Home. Lost. The good kind of bad. A drug. A drug addict. Love. Loving. Unloved. A leader to follow blindly into a tree, if I justified it well enough. A childless mother. A motherless child. A mirroring monster. A good lay. Sad. Open dancer wide, but virgin tight. A surprise. A lesson. An addiction. A simultaneous reason to live or die, together.

He likes me ’cause he(‘s):
In the dark. Breakable. Breaking. Partially broken. Needy of the same. A drunk. Lonely. Afraid. Lost. Needs love and affirmation. Wants to feel without feeling. A student. A master. Pleasing. Pleased. A conqueror. Unsure of himself. Only believes in my inevitable success. Trusts my truths. Can deny me. Can run away. Can be proud through and or above shame. Glued together. Falling apart. Feels alone. As broken as me. Not tied to me. Can’t hide from me. Doesn’t have to explain to me (but does anyway). Can’t feel too much. Likes to be on edge. Can pretend he doesn’t treat me like an indentured servant. Doesn’t have to love me “like that.” Feels suicidal. Can be a part of my life. Is addicted. Afraid of falling from his knees before me. Can pretend. Has power. Can fuck and run. Feels dirty, too. Definitely scared to death of me…but also brought to life by me.

Au Naturale

Lately, when we fuck, I bite through my lip until it feels like its going to bleed after every, “Baby….” I do this so you don’t catch me holding my breath anymore. I do it to stay present, keep the air moving through me, blowing the end of that sentence as far off a cliff as I possibly can. I look at you to make sure your eyes are still closed before I allow the tear to drop as those unspoken words crash on valleys of “better nots.”

“Baby, I love you.” It’s a sentence I won’t speak, a notion I will deny as long as I can to keep you touching me. Buddy Wakefield once said in a TEDxTalk that it takes a long time to make love to someone who hates themselves. But what is it called when you share an affinity for the love of self hatred? I don’t know the answer to that and I know we don’t have a lot of time together; so I wipe the sweat, tears and runny make-up from my face, muzzle my mind, unleash my monster, keep on fucking and wait for the next kiss I earn for keeping my mouth shut.

I close my eyes and let the beast take over, because that’s what you’re here for and I know it. I shut down my humanity and let our demons have their fun. Because we jumped into this, bent at the knees, backs braced for battle- whether you admit it or not. Fucking in quicksand, with our post-traumatic-trigger-happy demons playing chicken from their thrones on our backs. We were mirrors- of monsters that fucked themselves inside out with perverted lusts….tickling the g-spots of our damaged chasms.

For the first time, I met myself in that darkness. I searched my demon; let myself be searched, tied down in total trust and fucked from every orifice with twisted pleasure. I loved you pervertedly from the moment we met, like a long lost identical twin wanting to fuck them self in another person and having no qualms or shame about it. So, what can I say, but thank you? I can see all of me, through you; embrace all of me through you; love all of me through you….even if I can’t yet say it, at least I know. But you’re either in, or you’re out and that’s a lesson I won’t keep being taught again, and again, and again. I’m more creative with my self abuse than that.

For now, I’ll masturbate to fantasies of what it would be like to experience just once knowing love in a place unperverted by the bullshit that made us what we are; if our angels were never forced into demons by the necessity of childhood survival- where we don’t need the twisted sicknesses our fathers screwed into us to be turned on. I’ll touch myself softly this time, to thoughts of a place and time where our darkness is light and I don’t always have to earn each kiss; where validation comes in unsolicited words; where I’m not always next in line behind a curtain….where it doesn’t always have to hurt so fucking bad, just to make it feel good. A place where “I love you” doesn’t have to be choked down self aware held breaths whose exhales are diverted by the pain of bitten lips and “don’t look at me” trails of eyeliner, washed away in tears. A place where “I love you” is not a thought about statement at all, but something more natural- like breathing, something you can inhale as easily as you let it go.