MALSAiN

What do I have to do to be seen as something other than a vagina by men?

I'm dying of lack of intimacy, of human warmth. Holding hands, having my hair stroked, cooking for me while I nap. A message from a random Tuesday afternoon, just because someone's thinking of me.

I'm so mad because I love so much. I can travel hundreds of miles for my loved ones, carry tons, be covered in questionable drool. But who would do that for me? My loved ones, sure. But a man? A lover? I'm at the stage where I fantasize about physically assaulting them.

To step on their private parts. And then not, because they'd like that too much. Once again, I'd be serving their sick, weak brains and my needs would remain unmet. Maybe the hardest part of loving yourself is giving up the idea of revenge. Accepting the idea that no one can give me as much love as I give myself and others.