seduction of the will
December 30, 2021
My handwriting is jagged as rocks.
I’m hurting a lot today, but I’m also romanticizing it enough to make it hurt less.
Learned jealousy makes it impossible for me to show true love—which to me includes the love, sexual and non-sexual, of another’s body. Why are bodies propriety?
“I am afraid to own a body.
I am afraid to own a soul:
Profound, precarious property,
Possession not optional.”
What am I to do with this soft, animal machine?
Constantly leaping out like a naive lover into the realm of other bodies, desperate to give myself away. Heinous that my feathered limbs should land upon a blighted bough, always.
Shitty, that the touch of my wrapping could fill me with such elation, when an elegant and gentle, wise and worshipping hand is beyond discovery.
I’m angry at my body for wanting what it wants and ailing all the time while it longs. I would miss the beginning of tears at small moments of tenderness by those special angels whose drives take them to nurturing.
One fingertip touches my softness, and I am wrought with elation, and immediate grief for the inevitable storied process of love and loss, peak and pit.
Does death destroy a curse? If this body is cursed to want to hold another body, will the next vessel remember the story?
When I was a crow, what did I bring to the nest in my beak?
Honestly though, lately I feel betrayed by body—for being so sensitive, and so soft. Incapable of discernment where love is involved.
I just feel too much to process.
My eye is a magic portal.
It can create and destroy worlds, as well as
PERCEIVE them,
RAISE them,
and MANIPULATE them.
Seduction is beyond sex—it is the manipulation of the libido to drive toward one’s will.
Please hold me safely, gently, like a magic book,
an artifact,
a wound, because I am.
/
