Why I write about sex.

I write about sex because everyone wants to read about it. I write about sex because everyone has it. I write about sex because I am always wondering who is laying that stylist with the pencilled-in lips. I write about sex because I get paid to. I write about sex because it is always changing. I write about sex because it scares people. I write about sex because it’s hilarious. I write about sex because it is an issue of social justice. I write about sex because it connects me to being animal. I write about sex because the words are a pleasure. I write about sex because I feared it in high school. I write about sex because my politics demand it. I write about sex because I was raped.  I write about sex because so were both my sisters. I write about sex because it is a part of loving well. I write about sex because I miss it when I am not having it. I write about sex because bodies have a dance. I write about sex because if you know a character’s sex life, everything else follows. I write about sex because I want to be Rumi. I write about sex because things like elevators become much more interesting. I write about sex to say it’s okay. I write about sex to bully my peers into using condoms. I write about sex as an act of love. I write about sex because I’m stubborn and self-effacing. I write about sex because I’m proud of the story I inhabit. I write about sex because there are a lot of terrible books to make up for. I write about sex because it’s good with wine and chocolate. I write about sex to keep my rights. I write about sex to open conversation. I write about sex because pubic lice are funny. I write about sex because I’ve had great lovers. I write about sex to cultivate compassion. I write about sex because no one is saying what it feels like to have your genital warts burned off. I write about sex because it is a way of holding my own hand. I write about sex as an apology to anyone I’ve judged. I write about sex in honor of every kid who’s asking if they’re normal. I write about sex because there’s no such thing as normal. I write about sex because it reminds me of the power of intuition. I write about sex because I retain the correct proportion of awe. I write about sex because I can say penis without blushing. I write about sex as a deep breath in my loneliness. I write about sex to cry. I write about sex because I ache to put my words behind something that matters. I write about sex because it’s difficult. I write about sex because I am never, ever tired of it.  I write about sex because so much happens in that place beyond words.