litany of an unreformed magdalene

it may sound silly to say that being violated made me who i am, but it's true.

all i wanted was a big brother. i'd tried to please without reservation, against my conscience, against my better judgement...sacrificing myself on a golden flame of my own making.

but all i got was a broken heart.

when i was ready to fully express my sexuality, there were no virginal hang ups (i lost the title before i could even understand what having "the prize" would mean), no religious dogma to combat.

i was just a girl who got a little too much information a little too early about sex and its emotions, misplaced, unwanted, and unrequited feelings, and the thoughts of men--well, boys.

i was never damaged goods, tainted, or some kind of tart.

i just wanted to be left alone behind my long, layered, loose-fitting clothes to ponder the weight of the love i'd lost.

point is, this sexy ain't free.

i did not become a practically minded, chilled out, emotionally secure woman overnight--although it has always seemed natural that my heartstrings existed completely independent of my pussy.

i had to claw my way up the side of a mountain, learning to love again at each step.

oshun has walked much of the way with me, illuminating the life lived with sensuality as a living, breathing tool.

i read about the ancient ways of sacred whores, and they made sense to me. my dreams suggested that i'd been a courtesan some centuries ago, maybe almost as many times as i'd been a priestess.

it was all natural, and right, and within me to be.

so despite the almost-cut arms, the nights i stared down the gun, and all the bitter tears--i can't say who i'd be today if i hadn't lost what i lost, worked through the pain and healed the wounds.

hell was my cocoon, but the fire tempered a beautiful butterfly.

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