Amigue

de mi pasado, presente y quizas futuro

Tengo algo que decirte antes que mi pecho vaya a explotar
Siento un gran peso que me lleva a callarlo y susurrar
No quiero seducirte, tampoco te quiero besar
Confía, lo he intentado, pero no va por allá
Este sol que llena mi pecho, alcanza llamarlo amistad?
No lo se, ni lo sabré, pero bien que te quiero amar

Behind This Poem

I reconnected with someone I haven’t spoken to in a really long time. In a gut-wrenching plot twist, it turns out we spoke quite a lot during the 13 years we were physically apart, so much so that it caused some relationship drama on his side. But I have absolutely no recollection of any online correspondence, which makes me feel like I abandoned him.

I’ve wanted an asexual commitment for a really long time. Something safe, fun, relaxed. Something I choose consistently every single day, but could walk away from with no restrictive obstacles. Someone who doesn’t want to own or control me, just make me feel good outside of a romantic or sexual context. But I had no words like queerplatonic, negotiating boundaries, or ongoing consent when I started to feel desire as a teenager.

There’s this ball of sunshine in my chest when he looks in my eyes and tells me he loves me. That moment is often intruded upon by my brain supplying intrusive thoughts along the lines of “do I really love him back if I don’t want to kiss him?” as if physical intimacy is a pre-requisite for deep feelings of love and care. As if I need to bring my whole body to the party to call anything we do intimacy. I want to live in a world where our relationship is as easily accepted as a heteronormative commitment.

This poem is something I wrote while I was gathering the courage to tell him I love him.

I thought it would feel like a bear trap closing, but I just felt free. Like a weight lifted and there was only sunshine for a moment.