A man sends me a picture of his dick. I respond with a heart-eyes emoji.
He asks if I want to taste it.
Maybe, I say.
But that’s not what I mean. My real answer is no.
What I want is to be held without expectation. To be comforted.
Because my inner child is scared and wants her grandmother
who died fifteen years ago or her mother who is 6,000 miles away.
I want someone to caress my hair and tell me everything will be fine.
To hold me in a silence that speaks comfort in all the languages of the world.
To feel safe.
To be loved.
You and your penis aren’t offering me that.
Maybe, I say.
And you respond with a silence that says everything I need to know about you.
You’re not what I’m looking for.
………………………………….
Iva Yates writes poetry, fiction, and personal essays in English and Spanish. Her work has been published in The Ogham Stone, Silver Apples Magazine, The Corridor, and Contratiempo. She holds a bachelor’s degree in English from Boston College and a master’s degree in English Literary Studies from the University of York. She is currently a doctoral candidate in Creative Writing at the University of Limerick.