Itch
CW: sexual health and sexually transmitted diseases; self-blame; stigmatisation.
I was 22 years old
when I found out I had something.
I was 22 years old
when I found out I had something
without a cure.
Two years,
two fucking years,
(quite literally)
was all it took
and I really,
shouldn’t be surprised.
So here we are,
two more years later.
I’m 24. And the fucking has died down
but that might have more to do with this whole lockdown pandemic shit
than that wet pussy shit
but anyway,
let’s take stock:
flashback to her
lying there
flushed
on a bed with a white sheet
she doesn’t use
legs open
all exposed
posed
while they swabbed and dabbed and daubed
and she swallowed
negative for chlamydia
positive for…
there are rules you see
I know you learnt them too
sitting cross-legged on old carpet
while someone, some adult,
enthusiastic or bored or solemn
trying too hard or not enough
told you to practise safe sex
and you nodded along
because you knew it to be true
Now, how do you deal with such a diagnosis?
From some probing proboscis with a preposterous prognosis?
First of all, you cry
untamed
in a swirling pit of angry confusion, all tears and blame
pointing fingers
pointing outwards
to anyone, at everyone
else.
Until, you sigh. You wilt
Because
all that
doesn’t change anything
your petals still itch
and they won’t stop
just because you weed out the slug
that snail
that failed
to keep hold of his shell
oh well.
Honestly, at the end of the day,
there’s not much more to be done, not much more to do
after that
than accept
what’s true.
And now, those offhand jokes
on shows
while friends are trading blows
might make you sob
or germaphobes flaunt flawed facts
But don’t lose hope
because it’s scary
and that’s okay
and it’s really uncomfortable too
And once you’ve got past that searing self blame, self shame
don't force abstinence, or celibacy
you don’t have to keep it in your pants
just remember, in between those heady puffs and pants
don’t leave it to chance.
By Alice Liddell