Stream of Consciousness

*Trigger warning (sexual content)*

I feel so activated. So loud. So alive.
There’s semen in the bathroom.
On my arm. On my chest.
Okay, so maybe I’m not completely disgusting?
Maybe vanity is a pretext,
But I still don’t need to eat,
to feel,
to fuck.
Fuck you.
I want to fuck you.
My body burns.
It fills to the brim with fire.
Read to burst forward,
open.
You talk about sex, intimacy, the merging of souls.
I laugh and feel so alone.
Sex is not sex without violence,
shame, agony, secrecy.
A child compulsively masturbating on her parents’ bed,
in her father’s chair
rock, rock, rocking to climax.
Wet fingers and wet cheeks.
Tears.
My mama yells,
“Little girls don’t touch themselves like that!”
I’m back in the shower
washing the sin off my hairless body.
I long for you
your skin, your neck, your breasts – soft and full.
I want to peel your ribs apart and place my heart next to yours.
Keep it safe, keep me safe.
Nurse me back to health, to life, to love.
I’m so tired.
I’m so bored.
I’m so horny.
Everything I feel is stored in my clit.
A tiny pearl for a tiny princess.
Don’t you want to see it? Feel it? Cut it off?
like the long wavy hair
filled with thick mucus,
the eternal stench
seeping through to that precious brain.
Swollen penis, swollen vulva, swollen amygdala.
Screaming, screaming, screaming
flashing lights and sirens
are we in danger or in trouble?
Have you seen this crime?
Inside my mind, it replays
over and over and over
running in the background.
You love me, I feel it.
I feel it in my bones,
in my hardened nipples.
Being with you arouses me
It burns, it aches
it dampens my panties.
There’s a baby who wants to suckle,
the child who wants to cuddle
to bite, to kiss, to hug, to scratch.
Give me your body.
Take mine.
Throw me out the window, into the cold, into the trash.
Do anything at all
just don’t leave me
alone.
Alone with the voices, the whispers,
the glaring eyes of accusation: ‘father fucker’
How strange that I would begin inside my mother
nine months of oblivion
only to spend three decades with my father inside of me
injected with my own life force.
Concentrated DNA.
Half of egg with all of sperm.
75% him. 0% me.
I do not exist without him, without her
without you.
Is it that I love you or how I feel with you?
I think it’s the way we are together,
two souls
melded.
No water, no sex. Literally.
The way it feels when we connect
when we laugh
when we see each other.
I guess I like who I am when I’m able to see myself through your eyes.
I experience myself as you experience me
and then I can breathe.
I can lay my head down to rest,
quiet heart and calm lungs
because maybe I’ll be okay.
Or maybe I already am
If only I could be small enough, big enough
loud enough, quiet enough.
Just once, just one day I want to feel beautiful
I want to be beautiful to someone other than them.
Who even are “they”? Who is “she”? “He”? “You”?
Who am I?
Everyone envelops everyone.
No one can breathe.
There are no lines, no spaces.
There’s too much space, too much air, too many lines.
Too much and not enough.
And, oh, how my body just keeps burning,
on fire,
I’m burning alive.
Nothing but ash –
soot –
to fingerpaint a two-headed hermaphrodite on a carving of wood.