Monday, August 22

i write

I write again because I don’t dare to speak. There is a person across me, perhaps he is a man but I cannot speak. I cannot say I do not trust. I do not trust the look in your eyes when you look at me, when you touch me. I have no faith in your eyes. Sex is about trust. You need to trust and you need to be allowed to communicate, and trust that that love and care which you show with your body is real. I don’t trust.

I don’t want to have just sex anymore. Sex without trust: I am distant, and it is only good in a narcissistic way, in a fantastical way. You communicate only with your fantasy and not another person. This is damaging and harmful. I don’t want to hurt myself and the man any more. I don’t want to do that anymore. When I touch you I want to open up my heart and my mind and let you in, and let you get around and claim the space. I want to mean what I say.

I need to trust you. Would you say I am ethical, and tight, and that I miss the point of pleasure? I say I don’t want to hurt myself anymore. I don’t want to scrape my soul with a pocket knife anymore.

I want to ask you if you understand; and if you know; and if you can love; but I cannot speak. I write because you sit across me and I don’t trust you even to ask you. I don’t trust that you will not say I am prude and scared, and a waste of your time. So, I write to myself. I talk to my self. I have this dilemma. Should I speak and see if you hear me and treat you accordingly. Should I not. I feel I should not. I feel that it is embarrassing to say what I want and what I need. I feel it is uncool and oldschool to ask for love and trust and care and openness from you. To keep the sexual as an extension of communication. To have sex with you, in the best case would mean to me to be so open I could die from you. And I cannot trust you, nor your eyes nor and the way you look at me and touch me.

I know what I don’t want anymore. I know I don’t want to have bad hurtful sex anymore. I know I don’t want to add to the world’s pain anymore. But I don’t know how to seek a lover, how to reach the love in a man. How to ask for it. I don’t know how to find it. I know only how to withdraw and be distant and watch from afar and not be involved.

I don’t want to run away anymore. I don’t want to be here and not be here anymore, just to stay cool and keep safe. Why is it so frightening and embarrassing to ask for something real and good? Why is it so wrong, to seek something better in this pornorific culture of ours. Why am I ashamed to ask you for what I know we both need, what would be really joy. Why do I feel alone and rejected by this society when I seek love and sexual communication, when I wish to stop the masochism that pretends to be so liberating and modern, free and fun?

I don’t think this is fun. To hurt your self and a man you might love. Why do men accept that? Why do they seek it? How many times have I been disappointed, and hurt, by a man because he did not even realize when I withdrew from sex and was absent emotionally. How many times have I been let down that way? And hurt. I knew then that I had to leave this person. That they did not love me. and I stayed until I could leave.

Now I want to seek love, I want to open my self and have good sex. And I take my time to know you and see you and trust you. And I feel like the world is telling me I am frigid and weird and unacceptable, and I act like I have a learning disability. I don’t have the self-esteem to support myself in this attempt for something better because I feel alone. Because I feel you, the man, will reject me if I speak of love and if I reject this cold cruel sex that is laid out for us by this pornorific culture. Will you reject me because I deny you the gifts of free sex that patriarchy promised you? Will you look at me with disgust and withdraw on the inside and reject me, and turn your face downwards ever so slightly, and will I know in that second that you spat at me, that you saw me as a dirty outsider, an insolent anarchist who blasphemised against nature. Will you reject me the way a man rejects his son who is born disabled?
Will you hate me for making you reject me?

Why am I afraid to seek love and to stand up for myself? Who will support me. in that soft weak moment when I stop while we kiss. That moment when I want more and I feel ashamed to say it.
Though I know, I know in my heart that I am right, even if my heart is alone outside in the cold. I know deep in my heart that this here land is sick and dying. I know in my heart that I seek joy and love. Will I find a man who can love, who will support me and speak to me with his heart? Can that be you? Or are you bound to the beast and kissing his feet? Sucking on his toes.

You look at me and you say we need to take risks. And I would. I would jump off of this cliff with you if you thought you could fly. But I would not join a group on a burning boat. There is risk and there is stupidity. Time and experience can show. I am not prude. I just want to take the time to have good love with you, or if it is not you, then with someone else. But I don’t want to waste my soul and my body, or yours for that matter, not anymore, for some fantasy and a little physical mixed-pleasure. Just because we think this is all there is and think thus that we want it.

I know there is more and I told myself I will seek it. So now, since I feel so alone against the Porn, I will stand for myself and support myself and if you choose to support me I will be glad to see that. And if you don’t, you don’t. Man.