Gillian Anderson was my Sexual Awakening
I wasn’t so much awake as I was a
groggy kind of confused.
See, the 12 year old reflection of me would wake up still dreaming and wonder How can someone be so beautiful?
Persecuted desires in pitch black
on tables teetering toward
viewed through pin-holes
wait, no, I’m sorry, bullet-holes
into the love now wounded because of
bold, brave men and women
compelled to glance, not at each
other, nor the same other,
but toward the soft
I used to lie in my bed and stare up into the abyss
of solitude as I wondered why God hated me.
I would spring up after hours of attempted sleep,
feeling the tears cascade down the sides
of my freckled cheeks.
My rib cage would expand, shrink,
expand, shrink, faster faster hyperventilating
from the fantasies that played on and on,
an everlasting movie in my head
until the intrusive thoughts consumed all the energ...