Why do men and women look at bodies who are not theirs to know? Why do they perform alone to a person that’s not home? Why do we need pornography support groups at all? Why can’t porn just not be something at all? Why is sex everywhere? Why is it the thing everybody wants more of? What is the big deal? Why do we crave it so much? Why does everything have to be sexual for us?
When do little girls no longer play outside-do cartwheels in the sun without worrying over their thighs? Why are women so sexualized? Why aren’t men in the same light? Why have we abused what you made so good. Sometimes all I can say is why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
Following Jesus opens up this hole. Why we parade women in sex - in bras - on poles? Does it really make men feel that good? Do we really give them something that desirable? A women’s sexuality? My sexuality? Sometimes all I can say is Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? And all this why makes me cry.
I don’t always understand why I have intense visceral reactions to things until I express it through a poem or art. Today my church announced they were going to start a support group for men to discuss openly the temptation and addiction to pornography (I do think this goes for both genders, but it’s not there yet).
I should have been happy that the conversation is finally out in the open and the word pornography isn’t being hushed and now being used in a morning announcement to the whole church.
But instead I was angry and upset, so I made this poem/letter that expressed more of what I was feeling.