To the Women who want to be Loved

There is nothing wrong with you. Us.  

I am a sexy woman. My body is full and voluptuous; poetic sex in motion. I have never had a problem finding suitors to warm my bed and adore my body. But it has grown insufficient.  

I tell myself:  

You DESERVE love. You deserve someone who looks at you with loving enchantment. You deserve someone who cares enough to stay and figure you out. You deserve someone who finds beauty in your scars and never makes you feel broken, intolerable or insufferable.  

I deserve someone who wants to talk to me everyday. I deserve someone who asks questions when they see I’ve fallen too deeply into my own thoughts. I deserve someone who can interpret the language of my silence and speak to me in love only through action.  

Being sexy but single plays with your emotion. You’re wanted. Coveted. Strategized over. But once you’ve given in, the chase ends. Was I wrong to give in to something that feels so good? So natural ? Why am I the one to make you come but never the one for whom you stay?  

Ghosts. I ask them to tell me the truth. Was it something I did? Something I said? Perhaps I was too honest too quickly. Perhaps if I had delayed the gratification of my body...I twist myself into knots wondering what I did wrong and how I’ve found myself in triage Saturday night but alone on Sunday morning. 

Starting to doubt my wonder. Questions of the kind of woman I am dominate my thoughts. Was I truly meant to navigate this world alone? Why, God? When this loneliness is palpable. When this loneliness is dangerous. 

I close my eyes as a dam to stop the tears from falling. I am lonely and it’s the only emotion that shakes me to my core. It’s killed me once before. It almost took Demi. I pray everyday she find a cure for the ache of solitude. Respite from feeling the heaviness of your own being.  Loneliness is the hardest pain to endure. 

I pray for myself too. Only my words are jumbled inside my mind. God help me find a partner who—no no help me be more grateful for my solitude—no, God please don’t leave me alone anymore. I’m so tired of carrying it all by myself. I need help, so just remove anyone who looks at me and thinks sex without Love. I edit endlessly. No more sure of what to ask for than I am of what I need.   

11:11 comes and I wish for my words to soar. Why? To find fame? To find love? To find a reason to believe that the universe truly is conspiring on my behalf and this part of my journey will all make sense one day.