I haven’t written much here lately. Life has been really painful, and I’ve had to process an awful lot as a result, and I just haven’t been able to put it into words yet.
I wrote a poem, but I have the shitty version of WordPress so I can’t upload audio or video. You can listen to me reading it here.
I’ve dealt in longings from the beginning.
An underground card dealer,
Dealing only one card, over and over. For years now,
Longings* have been the best sex that I’ve had.
I dealt in longings when I was stuck in a teenage prison,
Rules about what I should and shouldn’t do with my body were thrust upon me
Trying not to fuck the person I was with took all of my time,
And I was desperate, and it was bad, and I was denying, denying.
I spent years dealing in longing when my body wouldn’t cooperate,
When there was pain, and burning and longings turned into denial,
And I learned a new word,
I have dealt in longings when my partner
struggled to express their desire and need for me,
And the hurt and the pain that goes along with that,
And the longing.
I have dealt in longing and denial over and over and over in my life
And here I am dealing in them once again,
And how desperate I am to be free and to be able to be everything I want to be,
with my body that is broken and damaged, and yearning,
And not at fault.
And longings can be good, they can be beautiful,
they build anticipation and desire and a shared story,
but in my case it is the opposite.
Sometimes the story that I tell myself, is that my longings are the reason that I’m here,
the reason that I can’t walk, the reason that I can’t move,
and that if only I could just contain myself, for 5 minutes,
if I could just live without thinking about sex,
if I could just manage to get through a week or two weeks or four weeks without needing,
maybe my muscles and my body would recover, and I’d get better, and eventually,
maybe I’d be normal, and I tell myself that it is my fault.
Longing is what is left, after a lifetime of repression, after a lifetime of sticking those urges down where they cannot be seen, where they cannot be shown
So if you’ve been the recipient of my longing lately then I’m sorry if I’ve come on too fast or too hard, it’s just that I’m holding on to years and years of denial and repression
It is the build up of repressed desire that is seeping out of my cracks like air from a balloon on the cusp of bursting,
and I am starting to break it down and I’m just
I don’t know what to do,
I just know that I don’t want to watch the world go by any more, I want to be part of it,