The men who rape me are not strangers
They live with me in my home
I crawl into bed with them willingly
Because I have chosen them as the ones who will hurt me, when hurt feels inevitable.
Someone will surely do it anyway
I can feel their need, their incessant desire for cruelty
And if I do not acquiesce, it will happen to someone else, or worse.
And if I do, I will be loved for it.
There is always violence in their sex. I must be torn apart for them. Split open in my softest places.
They want to feel me rip. I cannot escape from their desire.
They will make me want it, ask, beg for it even. Beg for my own suffering, and be loved for it.
The impassable contradiction. Love as violence. Love as violation. But if I choose it, if I allow it, if I desire it, it will keep me safe.
Skunk Speaks 