to a playlist i made for him, in the bed he laid twenty-four hours ago, with his cologne still lingering in the sheets, she ate my p***y to perfection. song after song, twenty-nine songs to be exact. 

the problem for me wasn’t that i was having sex, because i lied and stole and did other “sins,” the problem was that i had sex and i enjoyed having sex. the impact that had on my self-esteem, self-worth, self-image was immense.

i quickly realized the journey would not be all face masks and candles. my journey looked like alcohol, and weed, and meaningless sex with some questionable characters, and some self-denial, and a few tattoos, and a couple piercings, and a little bit of credit card debt, but it also looked like cleansing tears, and deep breaths, and a lot of grace. 

i have no expectations on what “more” should or would look like, but i do have expectations on what self-love looks like to me and it’s important to me that i have this conversation with you as an act of self-love. no matter how uncomfortable or awkward or terrifying.

i love that i can hold my own in conversations with d**n near thirty-year-old men. christian and jalen always comment on my age and how you don’t find me often in this life. 

but i wish they could hold their own in bed with me.