A Note to My Boyfriend, My Compadre: I Am Beautiful.

Dear X,

I’m sad in our relationship right now. I’m sad you don’t like my body. I’m still learning to like my body after years of hating it. Loathing it. Wanting to mutilate it. Agonizing over it. And I’m not sure we’re in a healthy space because of your disinterest or desire for my body to look like something other than what it is. This scares me and scars me.

What might be worse is that your interest in me sexually had declined. I cannot look like those girls who you watch get fucked day after day. I will not either. I love you because you are you. I want to have sex with you because you’re the only person I share sex with. In the last few months I have began to feel ugly and desexualized, yearning to be desired by anyone. I want you to love me for me—all of me. I want sex to be something for you, even if it’s just lust. I don’t want you to change anything about yourself if you don’t want to change. If you don’t want to change that’s fine, honestly. It will hurt me yes, but I would rather be happy out of our relationship than hurting inside of it. I cannot be in a relationship where I’m consistently reminded that my body is not “ideal,” and as a result of this, I get no sexual satisfaction. It’s not fair to me.

I’m pissed off that you masturbate all the while knowing I want sex. I feel like I cannot provide you with what you want because you obviously have no interest in me. If you are horny enough to masturbate, then you should be horny enough to have sex with me. I don’t want to be in a sexual relationship where I am required to be monogamous yet get nothing in return. I need to be sexually validated. You used to sexually validate me. And now you don’t. But my body is still beautiful even when I’m not a size 3.

I hope you know how attracted I am to you—your mind, your body, your quirks. I can’t tell you’ve gained weight. You are the harshest critic on yourself. Please, work on letting it go. Your body is amazing. It has the power to captivate me, make me feel loved, pleasure me, make me feel special. I miss these experiences. I deserve these experiences too.

I don’t want our sex life to be indicative of our relationship. I know that you really love me. I feel like your platonic best friend though. We will forever have a deep connection because you’ve made me a better person. I’ve grown since knowing you because of you. You provide me with reflection—you’re like a mirror and when I look to you, you can pinpoint my abilities and flaws. And then you help me through them.

If you would like help learning how to fuck differently, how to have sex, how to engage in sex with someone you love as opposed to some inherent impulse of spilling your seed, I will help you. I want sex for you to be as exciting and fulfilling as it is for me. Sex is not just the orgasm. Sex is the connection, the passion, the desire focused towards my other. I’m sad that sex is not that to you because it makes me feel less important, like I’m just a piece of ass. Even if it’s a fat ass.

I always thought that you were different, like you know how unimportant aesthetics are when defining a person. I thought you were more radical, but I forgot that you grew up in the same society that has devalued my body my entire life. Fuck society.

Good Girls

My hips, they extend outwards in imitation of the horizon believing they will be welcomed like the morning sun signaling the beginning of a brand new day—
They are not.
My belly, it extends forward and under filled with excitement to be part of the world bouncing happily along as if constantly waving to those passing thinking it will be met with the same cordiality—
It is not.
My thighs, they rustle together making me chafe as I walk to class—or anywhere really—thinking the constant “swish-swish” friction of fabric is like the chatter of gossiping friends whose conversation will be interesting to all those around them—
It is not.
No, you see, they exist in a world where they are unwelcome—even though they harm no one. Their absence is what is preferred by most, men and women alike.
On this campus you see slim, sun kissed ladies who do not rudely “swish-swish” to all those who walk by, or wave with their abdomens to strangers. Oh, no. they are good girls, disciplined. They are well educated and they know not to be intrusive, to not take up space except when they are beckoned. Except when they are summoned for entertainment or pleasures of another. They do not make their existence known.
Good girls silently and almost invisibly just passing by—no waving, no speaking. Just perfect. Just shut up.  Just don’t eat that. Just wear this.  Just buy that. Just don’t love yourself. Just hate the rest as well. Just behave.