The Shame They Still Wear
Your hand moves down my bare spine,
Finding its way between my legs;
My initial response is to shut them closed.
However, my practice is to open…
And because it’s you, I do.
And you push your fingers inside of me.
You press gently against my saturated walls,
Exploring my most intimate space.
I shut my eyes and cry out -
The feeling is so acute.
Like a deep, dark bruise.
You slow your pace.
You wait for my next spontaneous move.
Your hand stays in place.
And I feel a wave of nausea come over me.
What is this feeling?
Is it mine?
I want to close down.
To push you away.
But I don’t.
Because it’s you.
You hold my gaze,
As your hand stays still inside of me.
My cheeks redden with timidity -
I want to look away.
Instead, you grab my face with your other hand
And steal a kiss, as if to say,
…You can open.”
My eyes well up immediately
I want to shut them
Instead I start to cry.
You don't move.
You continue to look at me,
I think of that man who violated this sacred place,
Remembering his dirty hands that encroached on my space.
I feel sick.
Can’t you just hurry it up, I think.
Fuck me mindlessly,
This intimacy is too much for me…
But that’s my fear speaking,
Everything is purposeful between us.
Yet, still I feel my walls caving in.
As if my pussy is trying to force you out of me.
“Get out.” She screams
But you lovingly stay.
“Im not going anywhere,” you silently say…
I feel my sisters now -
All the women who have been hurt down there.
Too many invasions to count -
The shame they still wear…
I feel the women who have come before me -
The armor that’s been built around our tender parts,
The infinite fears that sever us from our yearning hearts.
I feel your fingers de-armoring us now,
Cracking some code
As you push against the collective blocks,
That shout, “STOP! STOP! NO!”
The pulsating inside intensifies,
As if asleep and now alive,
Grasping onto your fingers
And trying to identify,
Whether or not you’re safe.
Can I trust you? She throbs.
She’s not meant to just open to whomever…
There’s genius to her contraction —
She must decipher if you’re worthy of her surrender.
And you are.
I let go of the pain,
Engrained within my cellular membrane.
I am at my threshold -
Beyond a mere climax.
And I choose to surrender…
The floodgates burst.
The bed is soaked through.
I wince with disgrace.
But you hold me closer.
And you bow at my feet.
You worship this process.
You steady my beat.
“The nectar of the Gods,” you whisper to me…
With such fucking reverence.
So I drown you with more…
The Feminine Heart