Sword and Sheath

Sarah Jane Hurst

Content warning: sexual themes

(consensual)

A girl in love with love— scared of the sword men yield in times of Lust. Holy Mother Mary... Oh, Sweet Aphrodite! To whom must I pray before I am satisfied with myself?

I lie on the exposed doona— naked and salted, a mixture of sweat and tears. The seam between my thighs burning, stinging, undefeated. A woman who cannot give herself. Am I even a woman at all?

Naked strangers on my phone— I watch with an algal tinge as they can do what I can’t. Try with one finger File the nail sharper. Why does every encounter leave me empty?

No one wants a clammed-up oyster with a calcified shell. It’s the inside that counts. Must I be broken for a pearl?

Is being whole not enough? Is being happy not enough? Am I not enough?

I see the frustration in your eyes when I say, Not tonight… Never claiming more than a consolation prize. Scorn me with your sharp kiss and prick my flesh red.

The more we try the more I feel this is about you. It’s not like I cum most of the time. And yet I lie here, pretending that it doesn’t hurt. It’ll be worth it in the end… right?