Love Yourself Tenderly

“…good deeds should come from our natural instinct toward brotherhood, not from tribalism!” (or forced guilt) ~ The Golem and the Jinni, by Helene Wecker

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A week or so ago, a relative messaged me to say that another relative was ill… and that the whole thing was my fault for refusing to interact with said relative.

I was quite shocked. I mean, I know I’m freaking fantastic, but I had no idea that my mere presence came with healing superpowers. Still… I felt like I should not give the message all that much importance, since it also included pronouncement of hellish suffering and smiting from a rather wrathful god if I didn’t change my wicked ways.

I do love my ways.

Anyhoo, because nonsense spreads like wildfire (or the stench of shit in a tiny room), the first message was followed by a second and third… from individuals with whom, I assume, the first relative discussed my refusal to share my secret superpowers. Those messages weren’t unkind (there was no mention of my sexy flesh and bones burning for eternity), but they did make it a point to remind me that “loving others first is the duty of every good person. And I know deep inside that you are a good person.”

No, my Wicked Luvs, I didn’t laugh madly at the poor manipulation attempt. Neither did I pretend to misunderstand what the person was saying—passive aggressiveness and I have never cared for each other. I don’t seem to have the right sort of teeth for it. So, I just told her, “Loving me first is my first duty. Everything else is a gift. I’m not in the habit of giving anything valuable—especially myself—to anyone who believes their happiness and peace of mind are more important than mine.”

There were other messages (some not nearly as kind as the blackmail). I deleted them unanswered. I took a shower, went for a walk, returned home to blackout poems, took another shower, ate some yummy ice cream… and told the brilliant woman who lives in my mirror that regardless of what the rest of the world might think and do, she will always be first on my list. She grinned at me, with exactly the right sort of teeth.

Pain Is Gentle…

…like a smile on the face of a tiger.

The last few days have included insane laughter, baring of teeth, and loud thoughts, shouting, Bring it on, you bastards! Life and Fate and the bits of me that hurt like a hot poker in the ribs just glance at me, worry filling their non-existing eyeballs—even Life and Fate and hot pokers understand that pushing a wild witchy woman who’s about to reach the end of her tether is not safe for anyone. So, they just stare… half enthralled… half waiting to see what I will do next…

I have been keeping them (especially pain) busy by doing things with my hands. Pain has no mind for work or sarcasm. That’s the reason why when the hurt tries to burst my insides, I laugh and surround myself with jokes of questionable niceness. Yesterday, even the mad grinning was failing. So, I pulled out the big weapons: markers, pens, needle, thread, recycled paper, tea bags and coffee filters, dried flowers, refurbished frames, nail polish I’ve owned since the Dark Ages (of course they had nail polish in the Dark Ages!), my tiny silver hammer, and well… you get the idea, don’t you? I got crafty and set pain aside to starve for attention.

By the time the sun decided to sleep, I had gone all wildly crafty on 5 blackouts. I enjoyed the completed work for a while, grinning… not caring all that much that my hands were stiff and shaky. And yes, I laughed raucously after that. Like I said to a friend, who pointed out that I make a lot of jokes when my body is being a bastard, “Laughter confuses the Reaper.” Art does the same for pain—it won’t stop the hurt, but it lets pain know that it can’t take my choices.

I chose to keep one of the blackouts for myself (see below). Because looking at it makes me smile… with lots of teeth and because I’m quite greedy. The others joined a growing wee pile that plans to become an online shop… sometime before Midsummer… I’m grinning again.

I also gave myself a cute skully angel brought to sweet and creepy life by Marfi, of Incipient Wings. It was love at first grin. She looks perfect next to my blackout.

So, my Wicked Luvs, what do you do when pain hurts like a royal bastard?

Sexuality Is in the Head

“You cannot divide creative juices from human juices. And as long as juicy women are equated with bad women, we will err on the side of being bad.” ~ Erica Jong

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None can know
me, what drives me wild
in the mind,
what speaks to the swells
of my hips and breasts…
the way I do.

Hands I allow
on me are a gift,
a pleasure partnership.

Hands and fingers and thought
tracing skin, feeling muscle and bone
ruled by said skin’s own brain
need no partner for joy—
gifts are good, entitlements are better.

Sexiness begins in your head—
touch your mind deeply,
love your body often.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” sexuality
is in my head (and in yours
if you want).
To celebrate it,
take your body and soul
and make yourself yours.

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the (not so) wee notes…
– Since Beltane—a witchy holiday that brings sexuality to my mind—was in, um… my mind, I asked the members of a private Crohn’s disease forum I belong to about their sex life. Many answered that their sex life was just fine, thank you very much, and can we talk about our ileums and rectums now? Others said that the illness has affected their sex life, but they have adjusted accordingly. The most prevalent answer was a variation of, “I’m single”. So, I added, “What about sex with yourself?” Some people (all right, a whole lot of people) left the session without typing another word.

Those of us who stayed on the forum spent some time discussing sexuality, morality, and the relationship between body and mind when it comes to physical pleasure. It was an enlightening conversation. I was puzzled by the number of mature adults who confessed to have never masturbated—not because of religious taboo, but because they are married or because the idea of touching their own bodies makes them feel dirty. I left the forum hoping for minds freed of nonsense that pushes people to believe that physical self-love is filthy behavior or something to be ashamed of.

Keeping that (and other juicy wonders) in mind, this Beltane, or May Day, or on this 1st Monday of the 5th month of the calendar year, I wish you lots and lots and lots of physical love (if you want it), especially from you to you. Be human, enjoy your Self.

– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

The blackout that fed the poem…

…and a flower that seems to be rather proud of her sexuality
(yep, the Thunbergia mysorensis is most definitely a girl)