connections

Sometimes men and women stand on two sides of a chasm feeling misunderstood. I get so damn tired of being the one to walk over to the men. I want the men to walk over to me. The lie, however reinforced by experience, is that men cross chasms for tits. One problem, however oversimplified it may seem, is that too many childhoods tape girls’ tits down, out of sight.

Masculine traits are preferred in many homes, schools, churches and jobs. Sensitivity and emotional intelligence are mislabeled “feminine” or “drama.” Beauty is mislabeled a distraction. Religion is scared of promoting hard-ons, so cover up the women!

I say, if you’re not arousing one another, go to a different church. For we are meant to find both the masculine and the feminine in one another and rescue it before it’s too late. To be a voice in the face of the voices in our past: you do not have to conform, you can be yourself here. And that should be beautiful, inspiring and arousing. You should look and smell and taste undeniably like a women. And you should look and smell and taste undeniably like a man. And you should act unashamedly like yourself.  And culture can’t tell us how to do that. You do not have to seduce one another to become powerful.

The rope bridge that can connect us is built out of trust and hope and honesty and forgiveness and bravery and ballsiness and shit.

It extends an invitation, with grace and time to teach one another your culture, your values, your language. We can respect one another’s preferences. We can hold out respect to one another. Yes, we are sexual, but we are more.

As long as we remain ingrained with the beliefs on our side: we’re only going to visit one another in rare moments of intimacy, emotional or physical moments of clothes-less encounters.

We were made to provide so much more for one another. We have got to find a way to build something sustainable together, the masculine and feminine, intertwining together. Connections don’t have to be fleeting moments of intimacy. We can live there.  We can live together

 

 

 

(This was written for what turned out to be one of my favorite nights ever: friends sharing art in our front room…loverly.)

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