i can and i will

Im still loved.

I know you stopped loving me, 

or maybe you didnt, 

or maybe you never even loved me in the first place.

But it’s okay, not matter how you felt about me 

or you feel about me now, 

I haven’t changed.

My worth is untouched, 

I’m still loveable, 

no matter how many people love me back 

or leave me forever.

I’m not defined by the people who love me 

or who don’t like me.

I’m defined by who I choose to love, 

who I want to share my life with, 

and oh boy, I loved you lots.

And I shared everything with you, 
trusted you more than anybody else, 

thought we had something special, a connection,

you loved me back, 

you left me anyway.

And that’s okay. 

It has to be okay, 

because if its not, 

nothing else will ever be okay again.

I have to accept, that loving and caring for someone 

means losing them at some point.

You can't keep someone forever, 

nothing is forever,

and everything changes all the time.

It’s rare, that two people 

change the same amount 

in the same time 

and in the same way.

But is it worth it, 

to love, 

if you know that you can only lose?

That there will be no winner in the end, 

just broken hearts and wasted time?

Good memories with a bitter after taste, 

salty tears and the exchange of bad words 

where once trust and hugs ruled?

No matter how and when it ends, 

it will always be worth it.

I refuse to become heartless 

and even more cynical, 

because I keep getting hurt.

I won't let stones weigh me down, 

because I had some bad experiences, 

when I could be flying, 

and having great experiences in the future.

I know that people keep leaving, 

and due to that I’m full of self-doubt and disgust, 

and I can't even be mad at them, 

because we share this hatred for me, 

I can't stand myself either, 

and I would walk away if I could, 

believe me.

So I have no right to blame you for burning bridges.

But we build a beautiful bridge 
and I dare you to find someone 

who carries your soul the way I did.

I’ll suffer now, 

but oh dear, 

you’ll suffer later.

Even though my heart is broken right now, 

I know that I’ll be okay.

I know that I’ll get over it 

and find someone new, 

not to fill the hole that you created, 

but to open up a new one 

so they can leave their very own mark.

I won’t try to replace you, 

I’ll plant flowers on the grave of our friendship 

and they’ll grow into a garden 

that I’ll never visit again.

In the future, I won't deny myself the pleasure of intimacy, 

because I’m scared of loneliness.

I won't stop smiling now, 

just because I know that I will cry later.

I’ll still be open and soft on the inside, 

easy to bend and easier to break, 

because that’s what makes me me 

and I won’t give you the pleasure of changing me, 

making me a different person.

You didn't impress me that much.

And I wont deny new people 

the pleasure in getting to know the original me, 

and not the version that you destroyed and left.

I’ll be great, if you witness it or not.

I’ll be happy without you, 

and sad, not just because of you.

I’m loveable not matter if you’re around or not.

I’m still loved, even though not by you.

And no, I wont just ignore the fact that you're gone, 

I wont just move on and pretend like nothing happened, 

I’ll pause everything, 

fall down on my knees and cry, 

because I’m me, 

because I care and I’m not afraid to still care, 

even though you stopped caring about me.

I’ll be sad and angry and lonely, 

and that’s okay. 

I’ll have all of those feelings 

and I’ll cry a few times about you, 

and that’s okay. 

Because I rather care too much and too long, 

than never at all, 

and I rather still think about you everyday 

with a tear in my eye, 

than to forget everything we had.

I’m not impressed by your lack of emotion and regret, 

I pity you for not being able to feel enough, 

for having to hide and be strong,

because I allow myself to be weak 

and to break down for someone, 

that mattered to me.

I can’t say, if you really don’t care anymore 

or if you’re just scared of getting hurt, 

but look at me, 

I’m not scared, 

I put everything out there for you to see and to judge, 

and it was no mistake, 

because some day someone will come along 

and see the beauty in my faults 

and cherish the things I can give, 

in a way that you obviously couldn’t.

I feel sad for myself, 

because I thought of you as a friend 

and as it turns out, 

you were just a traveler, 

stranded in my life by mistake. 

And I feel sad for you, 

because you missed the opportunity of being my friend, 

of listening to my bad jokes and my bad advice.

well, we all make mistakes and shit happens.

but at least I’ve always been loyal, bitch.

About a month ago I had my interview for a very…interesting, maybe unusual job.

And it went great, I got it after about one hour of talking and explaining.
We mostly talked about my background, my motivation, a bit about my experiences and they explained to me what I would have to expect and how the whole thing would work.

I have to admit, I was quite unsure at first, a bit afraid and sceptic whether I really wanted to take the job and take a step into this whole new world, that I was not familiar with or just wait for another one, but I talked to two of the closest people in my life and made sure that they were okay with it. One of them was my mother, the other one my boyfriend.

Well, now a short exclaimer, that I didn’t want to leave out:
If you want to take a certain job, try out something new or in general, have to make a decision that influences your whole life, talk with someone about it.
But don’t let them decide for you, you’re the one who’s in charge.
Do what feels right for you, not what your mother expects you to do or what your boyfriend wants you to be.

I was lucky enough to have a mother who let me make my own choices (and mistakes) and would never stand in my way, and I’m clever enough to choose a boyfriend who is also okay with my choice and supports me as much as he can.

Anyway, so I accepted the job offer and took part in an introduction and training, which basically explained all the rules, how far I’m allowed to go, when and how to initiate the contact and the security things, like who I could talk to if I needed help, how to contact authorities, if I met someone who was either underage or a criminal and how I’m obligated to protect the identities and personal details of my clients.

And then all of a sudden, it started.

Now I won’t go into details, because I’m still doing the job and I have to protect my clients and everything involved, but I will talk about how it felt at first and how it influenced my view of the world and my private life.

At first I was of course very insecure and a bit scared, I didn’t know what would happen and how I would react.

But I adjusted very fast and whereas I was overthinking a lot at first, it all came kind of naturally (came…hahha) to me a few days in.

Something that I noticed was, that I tried to create a kind of character for myself to hide behind, to protect my feelings and to keep the experience a job and not an intimate, personal thing, but with time, the character I made for myself and my actual self kind of melted together.

And it wasn’t a bad thing, I still keep the distance between at-work-lili and private-life-lili, but it made the woman I was trying to embody more authentic: if I didn’t just nod and smile the whole time, but reacted sarcastic and fought playfully back.

Now, the good thing is, that with that kind of job, you have a lot of freedom and you’re able to experiment with your sexuality, try new things and just turn off your head and let go.

The bad thing is, that your clients will do the same.
While you can take a break from reality and be someone else for a few hours, they as well leave their day to day life behind and let out the beast or want to live out their darkest fantasies.
Which isn’t always very pleasant.

This shaped my view of the world quite a bit, I’m only 22 and not that experienced with the world and I haven’t met that many people, and most of the people I met there were kinda strange.

There are only 5 types of guys I met so far: the perverted old man, the shy teenager, the outcast nerd, the bored middle-aged man , and the emotional dead player

I can’t even decide which one is the worst, the perverts, who dream of little girls and weird roleplays; the shy teenagers which have never even seen a vagina, who are boring and tough to talk to; the outcast nerd, who wears a fedora, is a meninist and I despite him with every part of my soul, but still have to kiss his ass; the bored middle-aged men, who cheats on his wife and doesn’t care about his kids; or the player, who is arrogant and confident about his abilities as a lover, but is egoistic and has never even heard of the clitoris.

Of course I was expecting this job to have consequences for my private life, my father is mad and disappointed that I’m a sex worker, my mother doesn’t want to hear anything about it and pretends like it doesn’t exist and naturally it had a big influence on my relationship with my boyfriend.

Not talking is always the worst kind of communication, so I did my best to talk openly about it, to let him know when I was working and how I was doing.

Yes, jealousy can be an issue, but if you trust each other and vocalise your fears, it will not sabotage your relationship.

Now, the thing that suffers the most out of all of it, is your sex life.

I have to admit, I struggled switching between work-lili and private-life-lili the first few times, because even though sex was never something too intimate or even ‘holy’ for me, it takes it’s toll on you, if you share that with strangers for example from Monday until Friday and with someone you love on the weekends.

It took me a while, to realise that sex isn’t always sex. Yes, sometimes it’s just a fuck and just pleasure and lust, but with someone like my boyfriend even a rough quickie is never just fucking, but always (excuse the cheesy-ness) love making.
With strangers it’s bend-me-over-penis-in-vagina-in-out-orgasm-done, with him it’s so much more than that, and it still keeps growing (not just his dick). When I’m with him, I’m not work-lili, not thinking about what I need to do to make it better for the man or how to talk the dirtiest dirt to keep the clients coming back, with him I’m smiling and comfortable and probably casually watching tv while we do it.

All in all I can say that I do not regret taking this job, and may not always be fun and I certainly won’t get rich that way, but it’s not a “bad” or “dirty” thing to do, it’s a normal job and if I have the choice between doing boring office stuff or making a stranger horny and cum, I’d pick the second option.

My mother tells me that she's always there for me whilst she’s heading out the door. 

She won't call me for the next 3 weeks and I have no idea where she is.

My father tells me he loves me, at the same time he hits me again.

I’m supposed to  love them.
I do love them. 
I should know that they love me. 
They love me.

I’m sorry if I tell you that I like you and then not call you for three days.

I’m sorry if I bite you until you bleed while we’re kissing. 

I’m sorry if i have a hard time believing you that you love me, 
because those words have lost all their meaning for me.

If they loved me, they wouldn’t treat me that way. 

If they loved me, they would listen and not shout. 

If they loved me, they wouldn’t hurt me and make me cry.

'i love you' means, it's okay to hurt me, because they mean well.

'i love you' means, that i'm scared to hear those words, because now every stab wound is just a hickey .
'i love you' means, they're not abusing me, they're family and this is what we do.

'i love you' means they said the three magical words, now fuck off and stop whining.

But they are not the bad ones. They buy me gifts. 

They are not the enemy. They joke around.

They are not abusive, because they promised that they love me.

I’m not saying that you don’t love me, but I’m not sure if you do. 

I don’t know what loving someone means, I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like if you take away the pain.

I’m sorry, if I can’t say it back, because the word tastes bitter in my mouth.

I’m sorry, if my ‘I love you’s sound like ‘take care’ and ‘I miss you’, and 

I’m sorry, but please,  don’t tell me that you love me, but say that you’ll be kind to me.

Don't romanticise starring on your phone, waiting for his answer for hours and then trying to figure out what his "K“ means.

Don’t romanticise a man who only comes over to fuck (with) you, who only thinks about you when he’s horny or a man who likes your body more than your mind.

Don’t romanticise a guy, who doesn’t know what he wants, who keeps changing his mind and attitude, someone who would risk hurting you.

Don’t romanticise someone who’s just trying, the one who keeps telling you stuff, but never acts on it.

Romanticise men who answer as soon as they can and who are straightforward with you.

Romanticise the guy, who visitis you, builds a pillow fort and cuddles you, when you’re on your period, moody and just wanna be held.

Romaticise someone, who respects that you're not in the mood and doesn’t mind actually just watching a movie together.

Romanticise a guy, who you can laugh with during sex.

Romaticise the guy, who's not afraid of fighting with you, but of losing you, the guy who tells you that he loves you even though you know that he’s angry with you.

Romanticise the man, who thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in you’re lazy sunday clothing, with no make-up and unwashed hair.

Romaticise the guy, who shares things with you, his taste in music, favorite book, feelings, thoughts and underwear.

Romanticise the one who’s not afraid to love you.

I didnt want to write this. 

And bear in mind, that i'm the one who even wrote a love poem about the postman once, just because he smiled at me.
But now i'm doing it, even though everything i write too much about, tends to fall apart.
I'm already falling- every day i fall for you.
Every day that I talk to you or even just about you, I fall in love with you once again.

Don’t tell anyone, but there’s a fucking romantic deep inside of me (not just because i ate him) and I'm not just talking about fucking on rose petals with candles on the bedside table -
I’m speaking of love letters and diary entries with just your name written down 2849 times.

I dig the way you laugh (about my jokes),
I’m into your smell, your taste and - oh my god your tongue,
I’m attracted to your voice and your words and everything about your mouth and what comes out of it,

And also you’re fucking hot.
But you haven’t burned me yet.
Still, I’m on fire, because I want you.
Now and tomorrow and probably even next week.

Everyone before you spoke to me on some level, but you speak to me in every way.
Even the stupid stuff you say, makes me feel some kind of way,
even if you imitate me and say something “mean” and this horrible feeling hits me for just a second, before I realise that you’re joking, is precious to me and I wouldn’t want to give that up for anything in the world.

I did long term stupid things for temporary happiness,

Started a life-long war, for 5 minutes of peace,

Cut off my leg because I got a bruise on my foot,

Cut off my hair because I was too lazy to brush it,

Spent the night with you, in you, around you,

even though I should have just endured the company of loneliness and melancholia.

Instead I had a good time with bad memories.

You left in the morning, I was already gone by midnight.

I washed your smell out of my sheets and my hair,

but I couldn’t get rid of what you put inside me.

It’s over for you, but it’ll never be over for me,

you got over me, on top of me, but I’ll get never over it.

My eyes are wet and my wounds are fresh, like dewdrops on flower petals,

My hands sore from holding on to yours, they’re slippery,

like your tongue when we kissed,

first in my mouth, between my lips, and out again,

behind your teeth and walls of silence, never to be seen again,

out of my sight, now you’re just in my mind all the time again,

lost hands, lost touch, just lost and never found again.

I want to be able to go out in public at any hour of the day and not fear for my life or worse, 

my dignity.

I’m over shutting my mouth and being quiet, just because im scared someone could punish me for raising my voice.

Im over shrinking and bending, so that I will fit into your body, even though you came out of mine. 

Im over walking out of your way and standing in a corner, so that you don’t have to walk in my shadow.

Im tired of excuses and explanations, of people lecturing me about what i'm able to do, where my female appearence restricts me and what impulses and desires other human beings won't control.

I’m angry about my mother for telling me, that I should dress differently, walk faster and never leave the well-lit path, and even that wont stop me from discovering the dark side of this society.

I’m even angrier, because she feels the need to tell me this, beccause she just wants me to be okay and not in danger and not as stupid as she has once been and 

I’m the angriest, because I get it.

And I don’t want to get it. 

I don’t want to be a part of the rape culture, to question my appearance, because me simply existing could get me in life-threatening trouble.

Me wearing a dress might be an invitiation to strangers to take it off.

Me just minding my own business could be interpreted as ‘hey give me attention and comments’ 

And me just breathing, might be the only thing I need to do, to get raped.

I don’t want to hide and cover up who I am so that I might have a chance of surviving.

I don’t want to justify my idea of freedom and expression, 

because someone's idea of freedom is walking around, touching private areas of others,

and the only thing he expresses is his wish to fuck me.

I don’t get why it's my fault, that someone else commits a crime.

I don’t understand, why its my responsibility to keep him from hurting me.

I don’t know, why it’s me, why everything’s wrong with me, when actually, 

everything’s wrong with him, and he’s the only one who should (be) change(d).