Sex, Money, Dishes

Tell me you’ve never fought with your partner about sex, money, or dishes.
Sex
I used to fight endlessly about sex, mainly because I didn’t want to have it but my partners did, so we’d fight and fuck, then I’d cry and be blinded by images of destroying my body or their body just to stop the rape and the torture of not feeling safe in my skin. Amazingly, we all survived and now I have a loving partner with whom I have gold-medal sex; you have to experience it to believe it, it’s like I’m cashing in on some sex fund which I invested in long ago. Happily I don’t fight about sex anymore- I’ve got a man I’m attracted to inside and out, and he loves me the way I want to be loved.
Money
I used to exchange sex for money. It seemed like there was always too much sex and not enough money in those transactions, or transgressions. Even those back-alley deals were more straight forward than my relationships in which sex was exchanged for the illusion of not being alone, for food, housing or ‘safety’, though I learned that the cost to my physical, mental and spiritual wellbeing which false relationships exacted was not worth the dinners, drinks, gifts of lingerie, attention or the roof over my head. You might get raped if you travel alone, but if you travel with a man you are guaranteed to get raped. Live within your means because fine dining won’t taste good if you are eating with a strange man, believe me I know. If you have to learn on your own I understand, however if my years of pain can help prevent a moment of your suffering, it will have been worth it.
Dishes
Rare is the man who finishes the dishes. Common are the men who stack the dishes artfully in the sink until there is barely room to turn on the faucet. I have noticed this pattern during my co-habitations with men. I’ve done too many dishes. It especially irks me when men drown sponges in the rinsed yet still not washed dish pile, unperturbed as the sponge decomposes into a musty mess. Men seem deaf to the silent cries of the forgotten dish sponge. Day after day, I rescue the sponge, wringing it out and restoring it to its rightful place safe on dry land, in sight. My man shows his love for me not only through our award-winning sex, but also through money (ie, responsibility for personal  finances to contribute to our future together) and dishes: ladies and gentlemen, my man did the dishes tonight, thus allowing me time to write the words you read. If a man loves you he will want to learn your love language, which you must teach him with patience, positive reinforcement, and more patience.
I grew up doing the dishes, in poverty, and sexually molested by family and friends. My sister would beat me when she got in trouble for not doing the dishes with me after we were told to do them, but the alternative would have been getting beaten by my parents for not doing the dishes, so I was going to get beat no matter what I did. I wished that someone would do the fucking dishes with me. A girl can get lonely amidst the dissolving suds.

Courtroom

In one version of my personal hell,
I am on trial
For the many hearts which men claim that I’ve broken
The courtroom is filled with shouting, controlling, angry men

‘But I gave you my body!’ My voice is only audible to myself amidst the raucous.
Who can say that my body was not a fair trade?
I feel that I over-paid, but none of the men ever asked me how I feel.

The men start to turn on each other, because they are each jealous of the others for having had my body- a body they felt belonged only to them
Undeserving jerks

They each find plenty of reasons to despise each other, comparing muscles, testicles and penises

Amidst the fury, I sneak out the back, silently shutting the door
Leaving them condemned to their misery

Outside the courtroom, the world is peaceful, beautiful, blissful-
Birds are singing, the sun is shining as it paints a rainbow across the sky
Each insect and blade of grass adds its music to the symphony
The trumpeting flowers and heralding trees
All celebrate with me
I am free at last

What the men failed to realize is that not only do I not owe them my body- or anything else for that matter-

My body is not even mine to own-
We will part one day, this sacred physical vehicle and I-
When my journey in this lifetime is complete
After many healthy and happy years
Which have only just begun