#hoe phase

How often have I winced under the weight of an unwanted touch, only to allow myself to be discarded by men I've never liked in the first place? Why am I not more discriminating? I allow them to seep into the crevices of my soul, allow them to fester and hollow me out, allow them to come and leave in the middle of the night. No, I don't care, I tell myself, feeling my heart sinking like a rock in a pond. Men I never really cared for, men who I've yearned for all the same. Living in some fantasy, as though these men, who, displaying all of the warning signs, only ever intended to use me, would be my saving grace, delivering to me some thing I've wanted so badly.

My bones are hungry. My skin is feral. My heart is melancholy and yet still romantic, still hopeful navigating such barren landscapes. I self objectify because I feel my flesh is all I have to offer, all there is to love. But I am a human woman with depth and empathy and vision. There is more to me than my sexuality, and I can no longer offer it up so freely, as if to say, please love me, I will defile myself in anyway you'd like, subject myself to abuse and disregard if you'll just hold me for an hour, if you'll just give me a moment of your attention.

I am beautiful. I am smart. I am kind. I am loving. I am compelling. I am a good woman to have in your corner. I am misguided from time to time, but I embrace the journey and adapt. I deserve so much more than I've given myself.

I, too, cannot do it to others. I need to repent for the moments I have been unkind, selfish. The times I've let my desperation seek out power trips. I must navigate the world more gently, must be more kind to those I can take advantage of, must refrain from causing harm.

I want to lead a loving life. I want to emanate peaceful, patient energy. I want to extend Grace to others and myself. I will no longer mistreat others, no longer mistreat myself. This life is mine, and I must choose to love it, choose to fill it with meaning, choose to be good to myself.