What makes me afraid the most
Is not of loving, and caring
(for I do that everyday with every breathe: that’s who I am)
(I care because I fear what, who I’d be without it)
(I care because it makes me happy to see you happy)
(I care because without caring I’m nothing)
(I care because you are, you exist and that’s the most beautiful thing)
What makes me afraid the most you ask then?
Of intimacy
And surrendering a power I know so little of
To someone.
Crying in the dark while the other sleeps on comfortably.
Because when they are above me, trying to please me, to comfort me, to love me
All I see is a dark grin, fingers that touch what should have not been touched.
Me saying no, and adults telling me off because “That’s what boys do!”
All I see is me, having to hide myself, to change, because I hated my body.
(because I was taught to hate it)
All I see is scars, and terrors deep, and uncaring monsters.
Intimacy.
It’s a power, is what people tell us.
You do things for love, for that intimacy
For the feel of being with someone, of skin touching and loving.
It’s a power they say, and someone has to be above.
They tell you: in a relationship, there should be equality.
But they show you: unequality, one partner being submissive and waiting.
They show you: it’s okay to take what you want, if you’re in power.
They show you: boys will be boys, they’re just being rough.
They show you: You’re exaggerating, it can’t be that bad.
I am scared.
Of holding hands, of touching someone.
Of promising something that I do not understand
(for hidden languages of the body is still something I have difficulty with).
I am scared. Of being held.
Of being taken care of.
If I relent my freedom, I’ll never get it back.
I’m scared, and I threw out all my scissors and razors awhile ago.
Sometimes I regret, and think “I want to shave myself”
And I remember, thinking in the dark of the night.
“Who would miss me?”
And holding a little razor in my hand, and thinking “There’s blood but it doesn’t hurt”.
I remember, cutting my hand open with a glass.
And thinking “If I bleed out, maybe it would be a kindness”.
I remember.
And I’m scared.
(I’m sorry)
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