How does Desire touch you?
A random Burn.
Desire burns me.
Anyone can desire.
Anyone can be desired.
Anyone can be desirable.
I've been desired SO many times
and I absorbed it like a river absorbs raindrops.
I never knew I was worth more than cheap desire.
Somewhere along the line I believed that if someone wanted me, I was tricking them and I needed to play along before they realized I was tainted.
All the one night stands confirmed what I believed… That noone wanted ME, just my function.
Its been a lifelong struggle. To this day… being wanted feels harmful to my system. Like its a dark room with hands reaching at me from all directions.
It doesn't feel good to me. Cheap desire. Interchangeable dopamine hits.
I'd rather stay to myself. Create from pain, and feel love through finding my own joy.
I don't know how to bridge my most inner self with my exterior scars. How can i let my most inner self exerience things, if my protective shell is too busy destroying the rainbow before the color hits my veins.
Ouch. Stop hitting so close to home. (I don't know how to bridge my most inner self with my exterior scars. How can i let my most inner self experience things, if my protective shell is too busy destroying the rainbow before the color hits my veins. ) And I ain't even a pretty. Does this come down to worth ? Obviously I am unworthy of love, and attention. So I must deflect, and maybe even never learn the signals - they say there are cues one can detect, hmm - ... maybe for women it is the (this is just an idea/an pinion) varieties that also confound, the lust, the commodification, the mechanism, the ego boost that all can sometimes be described as desire (perhaps by both parties, but surely by the ignorant desirer) ... all that litter obscures the true desires for your time and attention and you ideas and your smile and just you. And the litter can come in some fancy packages that make the truer one seem more mundane. Perhaps. (Or this is another form of the male narrative, that too is a possibility.) And sometimes we make bad choices. And soon we describe them as a type. But I suspect that was the patriarchal training dressed as culture. It is hard to find one we can be honest with, and in the honesty flourish, both as people and as a unit.
For the record, you are a Substackian I would gladly invite to a BBQ to hear your laughter and ideas and just take in your energy. (All that, obviously, in a non-creepy way... )
Sounds very much like an artist to me