I have never been able to balance sexual and emotional connection. Actually, I don't think it was ever me that couldn't balance it.
Men want the wild side of me, the version of me that wants to crawl into bed, skin-to-skin, at any possible moment. They want to run their fingers down the curve of my spine and breath heavily against my neck but they rarely feel like unraveling my thoughts or learning the stories behind my scars.
They say things like "I love fucking but I don't want a relationship". Or they leave the room with a smile on their face while the smell of them lingers on my skin, waiting to get washed down the shower drain with my shame.
Other men want to hang on every word and unpick my wounds. They hang on every word and expose themselves without ever removing a piece of clothing. They tell me their darkest secrets and shine a light in the basement where mine are buried. They want to keep it the same. me as words on the screen and never touch my skin.
And it amazes me when I stop to think about it, the few men who wanted to hear my voice in ways other than primal moans while stripped bare next to me in bed or the ones who knew my deepest secrets and fell between the sheets with me couldn't balance it out.
Physical and emotional desire is not an either-or scenario.
We can feel both.
But for now, I'm the bruised fruit, the snot-coloured crayon, the damaged girl tucked inside a beautiful woman, waiting for a man with thread to help mend wounds and kiss every inch of my skin.