It’s no coincidence that I have just written a poem after 22 years of having absolutely no inspiration nor desire to write poetry. When I was barely 16, I was writing lots of poems, mostly on the same subject: love, tenderness, and sensuality. My sexuality was awakening and I was expressing it most beautifully and poetically.
Sadly the object of my affection was a 40 year-old man. I was living my Oedipus, as so many young girls do, by having as a first love someone who resembles their father. All would have been fine had he kept the relationship platonic and encouraged me to mature into a relationship with someone my own age.