TWISTED

Twisted and turned.
My Body willed by my Mind
to ache & arch,
pop & pulse,
at the insistence of my Desire.
 
I am woman.
I'm Body and I am Mind:
breast & booty,
lips & legs,
all in the service of my Soul.

My eyes are dark and clouded when lustful, they draw you in and you can get lost in the story of their desire. But at other times, they tell stories more epic, grander and richer...Tales spilling over from all the chapters of my life.

From times when as a young girl, I was so painfully shy that I would hide from the world wrapped in my mother’s skirt latched onto her legs, 3 years old and already scared of the world. Her paisley fabric would shield me from other’s eyes making me nearly invisible. And from this position I would absorb tall tales of their husband and their flings and affairs and to me, these women were giants. The way they stood, hands on hips, their throaty laughs, flicking their hair back, some short and curly, other jet-black and sleek, some sexy, others modest and stylish, all larger than live. Married or single, their stories were my foundation, and I drank everything in.

Or as a teenage girl being called “plain Jane” as if labelling a growing young woman based on her appearance was acceptable, as if the spirit of a woman could possibly be bound within mortal flesh and fabric. I laugh at that description now, for how can you tell the tapestry of my soul by what you see on the outside. I am a child of God, weaved from the heavens, stars written in my DNA. And those who see beyond my shell, swim in deeper waters.

Am I a bit much, for damn sure!
Am I good enough? That is not even a consideration.
As women we have the ability to create and manifest the life we want. 
Might some be scared off by this too-muchness? Yes.
Should we tone it down for the sake of love? Hell no.
But DO mourn the ones who are not brave enough to love you... then wave them goodbye.

Or as a young woman of 24 being cast aside by a young man on the eve of our nuptials because he was weak and in the words of my father: “not the right man for me”. My father knew Grassy Park would never be big enough to hold me. I forged myself in stillness and solitude in my teenage years, working hard to mold the person I was to become, complexity my birthright, along with resilience and a strong survival instinct. Having a heart bleeding when you're so young leaves welts and scars that run till deep beneath the skin to where your blood boils and flows to the theme song of your life. It awakens something in you, these darts and rejections. It hardens you and forces you to discard the parts of you that people please, for there is no pleasing others without compromising yourself.

Therefore, you shift and change, figure out what works and what doesn’t, who fits and who was never meant to remain… and you say goodbye to the ones that cannot love you as you are meant to be loved, and you file away the lessons they’re meant to teach you in that 1 folder marked: “No more” …  and with it comes relief, that you are no longer begging someone to love you, and empowerment that you are brave enough to let go and your intuition is awaken and you are able to discern what best serves you.

And change is a beautiful thing. It realigns the outside with your inner power, and it spills out in dance, in song, in love and in lust. And as it unlocks your natural beauty, your self-confidence is intoxicating, and a knowing smile can be wielded to spread positivity to others, attracting the good, and repelling the bad. And finally, you can celebrate that he left you and you acknowledge to yourself that you would’ve given your all to make it work. But the cost would’ve been too high, for you now know her, and she dances through life happy in herself, her power an eternal source that he wanted to control, and failing to do so, he left her in ruins but with cracks wide open to let the wholesomeness in.
The flicker of desire will eventually seep from lustful eyes, the cloudiness will lift, and left behind will be all of me.

Choose this, choose love, choose depth for lust fades in the presence of its beauty. And if you cannot meet me there, leave me to myself, for these hands were meant to ignite more than loins and will call for a reckoning.
Half-ass…nope.
Half-life…never.

My touch is warm and deliberate when passion flares, it draws you in and envelopes you in a caress that burns hotter than the African sun.
But at other times, my fingers, my palms, my skin, my touch, every part of me is more electrifying. Heat courses through my veins hot like lava and spills over onto you, bringing warmth and comfort.
The stroke of lust will dull once spent, sweat will cling to places once visited by desire, and left behind will be all of me.
Choose this, choose love, for lust dims in the presence of it bounty.

My lips pout when my appetite is whetted by want, they seek yours out, biting and nibbling greedily as if the hunger will never be sated.
But at other times, words fall off them. Words speaking of love and trust, spoken words making me vulnerable, leaving lips quivering whilst waiting to hear back from you: genuine words, witticisms and truth.
The kiss of passion will simmer slowly away and lips will remain ripe, red and robust, and me, all of me will still be here.
Choose this, choose love, for lust once bitten, will shy away in the presence of  love.

I am pink panties and love on kitchen counters. I am black stockings and back seat smooches. I am granny knickers and quickies during TV ad breaks. I am pencil skirts and high heels and groping on hotel balconies. I am lacy lingerie and sleeping in and morning magic.
I am all that.
But so much more.
I am all heart, a gigantically, ridiculously enormous heart.
I am Love.
Not sometimes-love, or occasional-love, or lust disguised as love.
No, I am in-your-face-Love, unconditional-take-on-the-world-for-you-Love, scary-without-me-Love.

But what about the "good stuff" ?
Well, it will always come as part of the whole package.
It will always be founded in feelings.
It will always be an expression of Love.
And that is why it's so mind blowing, that is why it's so good.
Wouldn't want it any other way.