A lover of mine is African American
He likes to beat white women
It works for him
As it turns out, it works for me as well,
To be beaten by him.
We have a lovely relationship.
Phyiscal. Full of
need. Full of desire. Full of joy.
I wonder what it would be like
To have an Egyptian lover
To beat me like my ancestors did
To replay the story of my people
With a different ending
With pleasure instead of pain
Or at least pleasure combined with pain.
To celebrate the bondage of my communal history
In a new way
To bring me back to bondage
In order to celebrate my freedom
In a new way.
Would I want to slay my taskmaster like Moses
Did so long ago?
Or would I take what is given
Like a good girl
Treasuring each lash
Each strike
Feeling the pleasure through pain
Unable to explain it
Yet knowing it was there
Embracing it
Yearning for more.
You have made me in Your Image, God.
So you must have meant this for me, as well.
This need to have a part of me
Forever in Egypt
But finding my exodus from the land of enslavement
In slavery itself
Finding freedom through bondage
Escape through submission
The need to reach out through the need to obey
The need to honor that which is holy in myself
By discovering that which seems other
That which is mine alone
The bondage that my ancestors escaped
I redefine, and make my own
And that, too, is holy.
