I have burned you out—
and the smell still lingers in my clothes
So I put some Febreze on that shit and open a window
to air you out.
your ashes and dust nestled in the cracks and corners of my home
as if they had the right to be there.
and you are back, a cloud that makes me sneeze
gasp for air.
So I blow my nose and grab a drink.
I have burned you out,
you still remain as an annoying reminder.
But do not think
that I won’t find another way
to finish what I started.
by a UT Fourth Year
I’m trying to be normal. I’m trying to re-learn how to love and to be loved.
I’m trying to enter into new relationships. I’m trying to act like sex means nothing to me. I’m trying to tell new lovers the darkest pieces of me and not have them run away the minute they hear the word “survivor.”
I’m trying to live as I did before your hand pushing on the back of my neck took everything away from me. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s even possible.
I’m trying to remove guilt from myself. I’m trying to believe none of this is my fault. I’m trying not to cry.
I’m trying to find someone who will accept my cracks and heal with me. I’m trying to trust that I am not alone.
I’m trying to love myself.
I’m just trying, and it really fucking sucks.
by a UTK Sophomore
Shake, Take, Send,
Awake, Beneath, the End.
Flames, Heat, Burn,
Practice, Communication, Turns.
His response fuels me.
Up, Slack, or in Between,
His Dick is Mine to See.
From Above, Below, or the Side,
My Pussy is His to Decide.
Our Bodies set us Free.
Touch, Bite, Grab,
Tie, Bind, Gag.
Thrust, Moan, Scream,
Hang me up from your Beam.
Don’t make me Plea.
Cum, Cum, Cum,
Sweat, Breathing, Numb.
Satisfied, Pleased, Relax,
My Nails have left Tracks.
I love when We Make Whoopee.
By a UTK Sophomore
I’ve fucked a lot of guys.
And after all of the guys I’ve fucked, I feel as though I’ve learned so many valuable things about myself: my kinks, my limits, the way that my body experiences pleasure…
Fucking guys has taught me some pretty significant shit, like that when I’m horny enough, it only takes one strong stroke of a cool, wet tongue across my clit to send tremors throughout my body. Or that my perineum is all too often the unsung hero of my orgasms. That I can give a damn good lap dance to the right song, and teasing someone turns me on in a way that nothing else can. Having sex with men taught me that I don’t care for anal penetration, but I’ll let you rim me all day long. That I do not like doggy-style, and I’m sensitive to latex condoms. Having sex with guys taught me that attempting anything BDSM-related can get super intense super fast, so I like to use not-so-serious safe words to help lighten the mood for that very reason (my personal favorites are either kiwi or tulip).
Having sex with men has taught me the power in my body—the power in my own sexual pleasure—and why it’s important to know these things about myself.
Then I had sex with a woman, and holy shit. Talk about a life-changing, time-stopping, world-shattering experience that really only taught me one major thing:
Everything I think I know? Yeah. I actually know nothing.
It wasn’t until I fucked a woman that I realized I severely dislike sucking dick, and that I would much rather lick pussy all day, every day, seven days a week. It wasn’t until I fucked a woman that I learned 69ing in the backseat of a car is a million times less complicated when done between two women. Fucking a woman made me realize that my own body hair is beautiful. That penetration isn’t very important to me at all, and makes no real difference in whether I come or not. That hearing a woman’s moan at the right time is almost guaranteed to make me come harder than either of us were probably prepared for. Fucking a woman taught me that my sexuality is in a constant state of evolution—remolding and adapting itself after every discovery—and there is no possible way for me to claim that I concretely and comprehensively “know” anything about my sexuality because it is all subject to change with each sexual experience.
It took fucking only one woman for me to realize how much I still have to learn about myself.
Her eyes on mine are magnetic blue on hesitant green.
When she captures me with those eyes,
I am lost in the most inviting oceans I have ever seen.
Her eyes on mine are metallic connection on years of isolated green.
Bright, mesmeric, and
Wide enough to take all of me in.
Her eyes say more than the words on her lips, but
Her eyes on mine are only the half of it.
Her gaze holding mine has depth like a soul.
At its core is something wild and fearless.
Her gaze holding mine is contented suspension in a force field of ultramarine.
My mystified green beholders yearn to be held there forever.