In the beginning, I was pure. Pure in thought. Pure in intentions because I didn’t really have any. We all were. Everything good starts this way, or so I’m learning. But then expectations, society, culture, survival, oppression, impressions, wants, needs, etc. make us hungry, thirsty and horny, perverting our sense of self, our inner knowing and… our purity.
My Substack… I started it on a lark, writing tentatively about my life experiences, sometimes ones I’d had alone, but sometimes with other people. I felt safe-ish, thinking… No one will EVER see this. No way. The internet is too big. Why would anyone look here. Do people even read?
Then people started seeing it. People I’d written about started reading about how I really saw them (even though I hide most people’s identities, ya’ll know who you are). It freaked me out, it was so unexpected. I liked it but feared retribution, consequences. My stomach started doing twisty things. Was it butterflies or anxiety? Like all new relationship…
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