They know that I can rhyme..

I've been listening to the CD that I bought from the band on Friday.

It's truly fantastic. Each song that comes on I think to myself, "This, this is my favorite song on the CD," and with every song, the next one makes me say the same thing. I just can't get over it.

Driving home from dinner with some friends, on the freeway, crusing away from the sunset, clouds dyed orange, brown, and pink, the lights lining the freeway this odd peachy contrast against the blips of blue between clouds.

I found myself suddenly saddened, listening to this music.

There's not a single person I can think of that I would want to share it with. That I think would appreciate it on the level that I do, that it would touch like it touches me. None of my friends, none of my lovers, present or past. People don't like to feel that ache.

I know, even with GV8 and his long-range plans, he's not for me, we aren't playing for keeps.

I am going to be alone.

You just don't get girls like me. Sure, I've heard of similiar, but whenever I meet one... no. Similiar on the social level, sometimes. Everything else, not so much.

Again, always one foot out the door, living with my shadowman because no other man is going to do it for me, I'm never going to find that resonation that I look for. Sure, I find the wild, damaged men that are my mirrors. I know them well. We collide and thunder rolls.

But where am I going to find my shadowman? Where am I going to find that man in my head, the man that knows damage, knows strength, knows and understands the dominance/submission dynamic, knows how to interact, how to carry himself, and the need to self-destruct?

Who is going to curl up with me in my bed and just listen to the rain? Curtains open, drops pelting the glass and the roof above us, cool sheets, fingers casually draped over my ribs, hair sliding across pillow, eyes half-closed.

I need my poetry, I need the internal conflict.

While I was driving, I knew. This thing with GV8... it's not going to last. It will last as long as I let it, but if he falls for me, I'm going to have to hurt him because I can't stay with him. He's not my lifemate, he's not who my soul sings for. I refuse to settle. He's a wonderful guy, he's strong, confident, a fantastic playmate, knowledgable, so very driven, so in control. I care about him, love spending time with him.

But he's not it.

Maybe I'll never find "it".

I'm usually okay with that. Sometimes... not so much. I'm a loner by nature, a companion by design. Physical contact sustains me, but I generally prefer my own company to the company of others. I'm wrecked and I'm wild and I shit-test guys I like by sleeping with them immediately because if they're going to think less of a girl like me for jumping into bed with them on a first or second date, I don't want to waste my time. It's always so disappointing, when I meet someone and I think they're intelligent, experienced, and funny... but they just can't get over their social issues.

Can you imagine this? You go out with a guy (or girl), and you totally click. Humor, physical attractiveness, intelligence, you're laughing all night, telling each other stories, having a fantastic time. So you invite them back to your place, you have good to amazing sex, grab breakfast together, and never see them again. You let them know during dinner that you aren't looking for a relationship, that you've had lovers in the past that you've gone on with for years without emotional entanglements, and they agree with you, say they're looking for the same thing. You text them or email them once, if they get back to you, you know it's game-on. They are okay, they don't have their little madonna-whore complex going on. Or they don't. And then maybe you run into them somewhere a few months later and they tell you that the reason why they didn't call you or whatever was because they don't think girls can have sex with guys and no get emotionally attached because girls always get attached to the guys they bone. Or you hear from a mutual friend that because you moved fast, they figured that you were easy and not the type of girl for a friends-with-benefits situation.

Except you constantly have males getting really pissed off at you because you've got such a high number count but you won't sleep with them. Which means what they are trying to say is, "You've just insulted me because you've slept with all these other guys and have this wild reputation but you won't sleep with me so that means something is wrong with me or something is wrong with you and I'm going to go with the latter, so how dare you reject me?"

Which I get way too often.

I am picky. I just go out a lot and get lots of offers. It's like magic.

So then this guy is telling you that he was afraid that you'd get emotionally attached to him and you're sitting there with your head slightly cocked going, "Oh, honey, you aren't that amazing."

I had a guy I slept with for years confess to me a few months ago that he was constantly afraid that I was going to fall in love with him. When he told me that, I almost started laughing after the initial shock wore off. Then I realized that he'd take my laughter as an insult to him as opposed to a "I can't believe you just said that, you giant dork" expression.

So if they aren't being pissed off that you're not sleeping with them, they're worried that they're so cool that you'll fall in love with them because you're this helpless female with no control over her emotions, or you're some headcase looking for validation through physical contact with the opposite sex.

Translate: you're easy, so you must have no self-worth. Or, you're easy, you sleep with anyone, which means I'm not special, which means you just hurt my ego. Or, you're easy, so you must have STDs. Or, you're easy, your father must have molested you as a child. Or, you're easy, so you probably cheat on your partners, etc etc etc.

I've cheated on two boyfriends in my entire life, when I was 16 and when I was 18. Twice for the 16, once for the 18.

In the last, oh, I don't know, seven or eight years, I have had three partners where we did not use protection. The most recent, he got out a condom, then we went into a rape-scene and he did not put it on and I couldn't tell because I was face-down, ass-up. Before that, I had been blowing one of my co-workers in the back hallway at the office (he was sooooo nice looking) and things got a little wild. Fortunately, it was right before my lunch break so I ran out for some Plan B. That was three years ago. Another, also about three years ago, was a regular partner who was not remotely endowed, was tested clean, and I kept in total control. I have never had an STD, unless you count the standard coldsores I've had since I was a child.

Heh, somehow I started ranting. I totally didn't mean to do that.

I know I don't function normally. I know it screws with people, even when I don't wish it to. My brain is off at this weird angle with these bizarre ethics and yet, somehow, I manage to function and be a productive member of society. My relationships, whether committed or open, have full communication and honesty (at least from me, this last one was epic failure that will never be repeated). I respect my partner, respect their wants and needs, even if I don't understand them. Everything is on the table with me because to do any less would not be good enough.

I was seeing this guy, Zat, in November/December of last year (truthfully, I was seeing about five guys in October/November/December of last year, before I whittled it down). We were having fun, sex was good, loved hanging out with him, we both knew it wasn't going anywhere past friendship and physical. And, per his request, I kept him updated to my activities with other guys. When Mr. Rape-Scene pulled the no-condom stunt (and got a talking-to for it), I told Zat immediately, on the phone, so he would have time to digest and come to a conclusion before we next went out. He decided that I was being, or allowing myself to be, too risky, and we killed the sex. I didn't argue, didn't complain, didn't try to persuade him otherwise.

I'm actually going to be seeing him this weekend. That will be nice, to catch up. He's an awesome guy.

Zat, he never thought less of me for sleeping with him the second time we went out. He believed that I represented myself honestly and accurately, and respected me for doing so. Enjoyed that I did so. He had no issue with a "sexually liberated" female (I hatehatehate that description).

I don't feel liberated. I have not burst free from any social constrictions, from any cages holding me back. Some guy did not come around and open my eyes to the ways of the world.

I need to come up with another description.

Sexually honest? Sexually apathetic? Sexually aggressive?

Okay, probably not that last one.

How could this be...

We have these moments.

Moments on street corners, in bars, in the grocery store, at the park, on the freeway, where we see someone and we know that everything we ever could be, and everything they ever could be, together, they're the one. Maybe the one for the moment, one for the week, the month, the year, they're it.

To the men I've yet to meet, the men who will touch me, wreck me, love me, I'm rushing towards you. I'm not a girl to wait, and maybe you like that, maybe you fear it.

But the actions I take today and the actions you are performing right now bring us together and I am so excited to know that one day, across a restaurant, at a coffee shop, in the movies, at a bookstore, I'll see you.

We'll talk.

We'll laugh.

We'll flirt.

We'll introduce new concepts to each other, new ideas, new motions and things to find attractive about the opposite sex. We'll impact each other so strongly for such a short entanglement, pushing off each other like walls in the swimming pool, launching towards the next destination, shoving aside water as we power forward.

I'll be in your bed, my clothing will decorate your floor. I will fall asleep with my head on your chest, breath blowing quietly against your skin until I do what I nearly always do: turn away and sleep on my own. Maybe you'll follow, pressing your chest against my spine, your nose buried in my hair. Maybe you won't.

I'll show you tricks I've learned, I'll show you how to relax, how to laugh during sex, how to enjoy yourself and to not worry about your partner so much it impedes the moment of your enjoyment.

And you'll show me things, things I've yet to think of, but you know them so well.

Our combined sexual histories will come together for an evening, for a few weeks, or a few months.

And then we'll part.

All of these moments.

I'm looking forward to the one with you.

Shadow Man

Your lips are against the curve of my ear. I hear your whispering something, your breath tickling my hair, your jaw brushing the side of my skull.

You tell me you understand. You tell me that you are with me every moment of every day, watching me live. You wait in bookstores while I read, curled up in an armchair, and sit with me in diners until I leave at odd hours of the morning. You ride with me, sitting in my passenger seat, the highway crumbling beneath my wheels. You watch me dance late at night, until my clothes are plastered to my body and I cannot stop smiling.

At night, in bed, you run your hand through my hair, and down the curve of my spine. You stroke me until I sleep, and stay up the night, watching me.

You're a beast, a predator. You understand me better than anyone. You know the dance, the games, the engineering of movements. You understand the bait dangling and the teasing, the shy smiles and the "accidental" contact between two people. You know what it is to find someone or something you want, and how to analyze the situation before driving towards it, full speed. You understand my need for solitude, you reflect with me late at night, read over my shoulder as I write for hours.

You know why I move alone. You understand the multiple social groups and the continued aloofness. You understand what is it to unintentionally intimidate those around you. You know what it is like to have a past years long gone continue to haunt your footsteps, to step into a room of old acquaintances and have them all turn to you with expectations.

You know what it is like to constantly be in your own head, always slightly separated from the moment, part of you always watching and detached from everyone and everything else. You share with me those moments when a person says something so wrong, so outside their experience, and pretend, just for a moment, that you agree with them so you can appear normal, undamaged. Like them.

We're both masses of scar tissue, strong and serene. Beautiful and damaged, but still functioning. We've embraced it all, we've embraced each other. We know we need pain to grow, we need those twinges running through our souls that make us think, make us more.

You know what it is like to burn.

I'll find you. Somehow, I will find you.