the lure of it is immense

i know i am a fool, hoping dirt and glory are both a kind of luminous paint; the humiliations and exaltations that light us up.

when you get home you can.tie me to the murphy bed.let's do all the things we said.tie me to the murphy bed.

"remind me again how we're supposed to do this?"

love lost, love remembered. love tangled in the messy bridges and strings that make up my body. it gets sucked through the straw and you get the love in increments. if it all comes at once, you risk losing it all. a big gust of wind, pushing through you and at you. you pushed yourself into my body and saturated me. squeezing through the pores, pouring down as proof of your intentions. i let myself be in positions of submission. i let myself get hurt because it makes me feel alive. i do not hurt myself intentionally or when i am alone. it is a hurt that comes with others, it has to be in the presence of someone else. so that i can blame you. blame them.

high school was defined by my senior year, ultimately. kelly lynne mulvey changed my life. as funny as it was, her effects are long lasting. she introduced us to the passion and to the never ending brilliance of jeanette winterson's words. i remember crowding over a tape recorder and articulating our thoughts, words overlapping words we tried to say all we could about how this book was holy. it changed us in different ways. i remember seeing "closer" and going to sleep listening to damien rice. the innocence of our new found physical passion was hot, sweaty, anxious. the single bed held our secrets. i remember being in whole foods and crying in the bathroom, thinking that i had no one left. tears falling on my notebook paper as we wrote SAT vocabulary and i drew angsty pictures that could not define the pain.
is that all that sex does? ultimately, sex comes to an end. the heated moments of gasping, swearing, biting, screaming end and then your two halves separate again. no longer a whole but two halves that will spend the rest of your lives looking for others to fill that void. sex completes us and then leaves us afterwards, emptier than we were before.

my ideas of sex were small. but i knew that i was destined to do great things in that field of study. with each person i practiced the rhythm, the cadence, the perfect pressure for my fingertips. i studied the curve of skin, the bigger and the smaller. the line that trails downwards, covered in down that darkens with sweat and saliva as my forehead, my lips travel. it is a map that unfolds bit by bit with each kiss and each touch.

there is nothing more exciting than the unknown. nothing more terrifying than not knowing what to expect when the random person fits herself into your hipbones and kneecaps. the eyes, the mouth say most of what you can expect. the pulse quickens and slows.

i watch porn. whenever i feel like it in my room. the internet provides that for bored, sex driven people all over the world. i can type in anything. usually i stick to masturbation. one woman alone making herself feel. the girls are unnatural. hairless aliens with abnormal curves and sizes. but i love it. i feel like they are looking into the camera and putting all of their concentration into making me come. she makes me come by making herself come. i could say that this is anti-feminism. but it is also sex. in sex, most labels and rules and values are out the window. if this wasn't true, rape wouldn't exist. sex gives people the ability to blame their animalistic, wild drives on SEXSEXSEX. the innate need to dominate or be dominated to fuck and to be fucked and to be violated and used.

we don't know why it happens, it just does.