I keep asking to be rid of all it is that I feel. This emptiness I can’t dare shake, a reminder of what will never be. The remains of love’s past that never worked out because I was drowning. In the moments trying to recover from death both physical and spiritual, I would reach out for touch and leave so damn filthy. They couldn’t answer the prayers stored inside of me, only soothe the pain from not hearing any response to my call to be saved. So I’ve left them alone ever since.
It’s been seven years since. Seven is the number of completion so maybe this is the last year I let death ruin my desires.
I feel like a woman. For once. I feel alive. I feel on edge. I feel like a powder keg. I feel like if I meet the right one, it’s only a matter of time. I feel like I don’t want to suffer behind the shame and guilt anymore. I feel like I’m ready for all the answers I’ve been running from. I’m ready to move into the next iteration of me: the smoldering one, the irresistible one. The one that doesn’t make sense but you want to experience it. Just a taste.
Sometimes I wish the experience of me would be worth all of the discomfort. Sometimes I wish I could be the sin you would never dare wash off. Sometimes I wish you’d wake up feeling dirty – the good kind – after dealing with me. Your favorite mistake. The secret you hold tight because if you admit to its existence, you’d feel less than pure. The cause of your worst behavior. The acting out of certain tabs you keep open late at night. The result of bottled up feelings and suppressed releases.
What a feeling is it when you realize that you’re the reason why someone is choosing to run from the grind. Texts don’t get answered because that’s him admitting defeat. You and his conversations are the lead topic in confessional. You can smell the perspiration from here. You’d never have to admit defeat until the end.
The end has you here. Acknowledging after all the fire and desire that you’re alone. That these moments will never solve your ultimate problem. You went to see Moonlight the other night and left alone. Almost cried about it until you stared out into an empty movie theatre parking lot and reminded yourself that this feeling is brief. A result of choosing to sit out because you deserve a love that doesn’t involve shrinking yourself and sexual intimacy that doesn’t leave you assaulted and abused.
You deserve control and this prolonged season is that. In theory. Fear is what really drives you to be alone. How many times can you call yourself “used goods” or “wasted space” or “unclean” until someone can smell it off of you. You can use your faith as perfume but the stench will permeate throughout the air. God ain’t call you to be without touch, your shame has. God ain’t put you in timeout, you did that yourself. God ain’t put an expiration on your sexual desires, you called game. The celibacy is a lie. You know it, they know it, we all know it. You finally accepted it.
And when you did, you unlocked a part of you that no man has yet to see but will be so grateful to experience. One you can tell he’s running from because it’s too much.
ciara roslyn-james 