As I sit to write these words that I am going to write now, I am trembling within me, for the vulnerability that I am being inspired to express. I am also fearful of rolling eyes and raised eyebrows and pressed lips of judgement. I quiver with shyness as I express the feelings so intimate to my body, mind and heart. I blush to let the world know that I am a human being with breasts that tingle, a lower abdomen that feels fuzzy and warm with erotic thoughts, a vagina that has its own monologue, heart and life, a heart that tightens to be released in a lovers embrace, lips that quiver to behold another warm pair.

Why do I feel this kind of tentativeness?

Well I am a woman, I am a single mother, I am vulnerable, I live in a world with perverted and emotionally dysfunctional men, and self-righteous and asexual women, I live in a world where fear of sexual exploitation abuse and rape lurks in corners for women and children, I live in a world that is violent and intolerant to explicit sexual expression in literature, poetry, art, cinema.

I live in a world where the men, women love and get related to, want their women to be passive in beds and never demand IT of them. I live in a world of gay men and women, hiding in closets and pretending to be straight, out of fear of being ‘found out’. I live in a world where men are children, who were abused by their fathers, brothers, uncles and live with numbness in their genitals and feel inadequate for ‘loss of manhood’.  I live in a world of men who were smothered by their mothers, and thus lost their sense of masculinity and developed hatred or fear towards their feminine selves. I live in a world where daughters were not loved purely by their fathers and sons who were asked to behave by their fathers.

I write this to awaken the God and Goddess within me to cleanse me of all fears, so that my poetry is elevated to divine pedestal, so that I be not dammed by the bigots that walk this planet of ours, so that my children be spared the shame of being their mother’s innocent babies.

I pray to be the divine Radhika to the erotic Krishna that sits in my spirit playing His divine flute.

Will the world forgive me then for wanting to write erotic poetry?

 

 

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