I’m starved for connection, not attention.

Poly doesn’t always feel nice.

And that’s ok.

Sometimes… Poly is watching your partner get their needs that match yours met with someone else.

Sometimes poly is having to accept less, instead of all.

Sometimes poly is, I hate this, but you don’t need my permission to do it anyway.

Sometimes poly is burning. Sitting in your room, your house, alone, burning with all the emotions and there is no one to put you out except yourself. And sometimes, you’re not enough of a firefighter.

Sometimes poly is boring.

Sometimes poly is Netflix and chilling, by yourself, your own hand down your pajama pants.

Sometimes poly is rage. Fierce, hot, molten gold down your gullet, choking you, burning you, cooking you to a not-quick enough death.

Sometimes it’s this is not enough, but this is better than nothing.

Sometimes it’s pain, bright, white hot, cutting into the very core of you. Splintering you into a thousand, million pieces.

Sometimes it’s I don’t know how I survive this.

Sometimes poly is… Acceptance of not so great, because there is no other option.

Sometimes poly is a snide laugh, a kick in the gut, a slap in the face.

Sometimes poly is heartbreak.

Sometimes poly is, I will never feel “safe” again.

Sometimes it’s just… Overthinking. Overanalyzing. Overdoing. Over scheduling. Overtalking. Over… Everything.

Sometimes poly is… Can’t I just go back?

But what poly really is?

Poly is I can’t. I can’t go back. Because going back would mean so much sacrifice. So much giving up of people that I cannot fathom how much I love them. So much beautiful, wonderful, awful exploration of self that I would never get again. I can’t say, I don’t want my lovers and friends and amazing people who blur ALL of my lines and boundaries with their amazing selves. I can’t say, for the sake of some general level of “comfort” that I know is false, I will give up everyone. Their intimacy, their vulnerability, their nakedness. What they look like laughing, and coming, and crying. Versions of them I don’t get to see within the confines of monogamy as I knew it. I have sacrificed so very much to be here, uncomfortable, today.

I can’t.

I feel I’m awake now, with all the discomfort that comes with awakening. But I can’t go back to sleep. It’s shitty, sometimes, being awake. The sun is too bright, the sounds too harsh. It’s easy when I’m head down, dreaming. But it’s not real, you know? It’s an illusion, a construct. It works for some, but I’ve taken the red pill. I’ve seen my life for how it is, my thinking for how it is. I can’t unsee it. Maybe one day how I outwardly perform myself will change, but for now, I can’t go back. I am what I am, doing what I’m doing the ways that I do it. Sometimes it hurts. Fuck yeah it hurts. Don’t ever believe anyone who tells you anything remotely differently. And you know what?

It’s ok.

Through this, we grow.

We become something else. We become better, stronger. We know ourselves more. We know more words to use to advocate for ourselves, and that is fucking amazing. Without this pain, without this trial by fire and molten metal, we might not know what we’re capable of. And knowing what we’re capable of is an awesome, incredible thing. That is what makes you, you. That is what inspires you to fucking amazing things. Even if the journey is horrible to get there.

~Jordyn