fierce prayers

Me: On the corner waiting for lyft. He: I was driving by and I saw your *** and had to pull over. Can I talk to you? Me: I'm waiting for my boyfriend, thanks anyway. He: Are you sure? Me: yup. He: can I give you $150 for the night? Me: nope. He: $200? Me: nope He: how about you give me your number? Nope. He walks away annoyed. The lyft lady pulls up & asks how I am and I say Glad to see you, and recount my conversation. She is entirely offended that the dude only offered me $200, it should have been way higher. My mind flashes to states of orgasm. My mind flashes to a moment in the priestess workshop I was teaching this weekend, when one of the women spoke into transforming the narrative of time = money. My mind flashes to getting kicked out of a restaurant parking lot where I was talking to friends because the manager accused me of soliciting. My mind flashes to erotica I downloaded the other day that made my stomach turn and my heart rage as soon as I realized it was a story - written by an author I usually enjoy and will no longer read - of a girl being sold into sex slavery. My mind flashes to the park where I was right before the lyft ride, sitting peacefully by the creek while hearing other people's voices in my head that I shouldn't wander alone in the woods. My mind flashes to stories of beloveds that are not mine to share on FB. The ride to my destination is just five minutes. When I get there, I text a dear one to say I arrived safely, a text I almost never think to send. I look for a way to wrap these strands together with a point or a punch line. I've got nothing, except a fierce prayer for sexual wholeness, for aligned desires being met in ways that are entirely nourishing and easeful and woven with enthusiastic consent.

Taya Shere