Sexual Anorexia
Sexual anorexia…wrecking any and all chances of tenderness.
Sexual anorexia…a compulsive avoidance of intimate nourishment.
Sexual anorexia…refusing all emotional sustenance.
Sexual anorexia…and I’m powerless in my efforts to escape this pain.
Taught to mistrust. Directed to doubt. Instructed to elude. Trained to detach.
This coping mechanism, while unhealthy and consuming, is all I know.
It’s what I do to cure the emptiness and the loneliness that drains my heart dry.
It’s what I do to combat the pain; this is how I fight through these days.
It’s what I do; this is who I am.
Dismissing the joys of casual dating and the possibilities for anything more.
Denying myself forever the potential pleasure of a meaningful relationship.
The genuine connection that should be innate is gone never to return.
Rigidity, judgment, and shame rule all components of my existence.
Sexual anorexia…the possibility of rejection paralyzes me no longer.
Sexual anorexia…safer to remain isolated even when it causes such intense pain.
Sexual anorexia…these futile attempts at imitating intimacy nauseate me.
Sexual anorexia…these romantic interludes do nothing but ruin the moment.
Taught to mistrust. Directed to doubt. Instructed to elude. Trained to detach.
With the fascination for familiarity forever lost, I’m driven solely by a new type of sensation.
This narcissism, though not inherent, has become the single driving force in my life.
Hunger both unknown drive this mess of a brain and forbidden.
Masking this condition with excuses, with mistruths, with refusals of invitations.
Unable to be replicated is the anticipation of what waits behind these doors fills me with exhilaration.
These absolute masterpieces, glossy hair, bronzed skin, taut figures, and soft curves.
Dreamlike centerfolds are at my beck and call at the slightest moment’s notice.
Goddesses put here to satisfy my sexual thirsts, my most taboo of desires.
Sexual anorexia...consumed by the absolute intensity of guilt afterward.
Sexual anorexia…the self-hatred that results is an absolute certainty.
Sexual anorexia…ever present rejection is forever removed from this equation.
Sexual anorexia…criticism is now something that doesn’t have the potential to exist.
Taught to mistrust. Directed to doubt. Instructed to elude. Trained to detach.
Unable to shoulder the pains of the day, I fret during the first moment of distress.
Clouded by the day’s darkness, consumed with anger that is always ready to release its valve.
I flee at the first hindrance and wrap myself up in the first available woman willing to open her arms.
Immersed in this self-absorption, I’m willing to do anything to escape this responsibility.
Driven to spots where rejection is never possible, where the word no is something I will never hear.
Committed to encounters with strangers, with people whose histories I’ll never know.
The only want is a sexual adventure motivated by anonymous and dangerous experiences.
The gap between craving and gratification is nothing more than the wetness between your thighs.
Sexual anorexia…destabilized is my pursuit to find a partner that fulfills me emotionally.
Sexual anorexia…searching for quick fixes that bring instant satisfaction in the most disingenuous of ways.
Sexual anorexia…when that burning lust is released, the immediate petition to disengage emerges.
Sexual anorexia…and I’m powerless in my efforts to escape this pain.
Taught to mistrust. Directed to doubt. Instructed to elude. Trained to detach.
The loss of appetite for romantic-sexual interaction.
Written in 2015
Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser