the kink of being fully alive

i used to think eros belonged only in bedrooms.
between tangled sheets and moaning mouths.
but i was wrong.
eros is not a place. it’s a way of seeing.
it’s the ache behind your ribcage
when a song wraps its arms
around your loneliness.
it’s the way your fingertips tremble
before they touch something holy.
and everything is holy
when you finally remember
you’re alive.

i want to talk about being erotic with yourself.
not just hand-between-your-legs erotic,
but god-is-in-the-dirt erotic.
the kind of erotic that stares back at you
in the mirror
after a good cry and says,
“you’re still fucking magnificent.”

because being erotic with yourself
isn’t about performance.
it’s about presence.
it’s about turning your gaze inward
and whispering,
i see you, babe. all of you.
and i won’t look away.

our culture taught us to be numb.
to shut the blinds on our senses.
to take the miracle of a peach
and turn it into macros.
to forget that raindrops
have tongues
and coffee has curves
and the wind is trying to kiss your neck
every damn morning.

but you…
you came here to feel.
you came here to melt.
you came here to undress the ordinary
and touch god’s thighs
in every mundane moment.

so here are three ways
to make love to yourself
and the world again:

flirt with the moment.

flirting isn’t just for strangers
in dark bars.
flirt with the steam
rising from your tea.
flirt with the way
the light enters the room
like it owns the place.
flirt with the way your hips sway
when you’re alone
and no one’s watching—
especially then.
practice letting your eyes linger.
on colors. on smells. on silence.
most people rush through life
like they’re late to their own funeral.
you don’t have to.
take your time like it’s consent.

make eye contact
with your shame.

the most erotic thing you can do
is stop pretending.
unzip your old stories.
lick the salt from your past.
touch the places you’ve exiled.
your shadows aren’t trying to destroy you.
they’re begging to be loved like a virgin.
when you touch yourself,
don’t rush.
don’t perform.
don’t fantasize
about being someone else.
be with you.
the way you’d hold a trembling animal.
the way you’d whisper to a lover in the dark:
i’ve got you. even now. especially now.

worship through the senses.

eat with your hands.
bathe with candlelight.
walk barefoot on wet grass.
let your body remember it is a temple,
not a productivity machine.
when you feel overwhelmed,
don’t numb out—
drop in.
find the scent that brings you home.
the music that makes your skin
beg to be touched.
the stretch that turns your spine
into sacred scripture your ancestors
tattooed in your marrow.

touch your own arm
and pretend it’s your first time.
look at your lover like they are the universe
in drag.
look at yourself
like you are the soulmate
you’ve been waiting for.

we are not here to rush.
we are here to remember.
to tremble and taste
and take this life into our mouths
with reverence and rebellion.

eros is not a secret.
it is the sound of your breath
when you say yes
to the sacred mess of being human.

and maybe, just maybe,
being erotic with the world
is the way we remember
how to make love
without needing
to be touched.

and still,
somehow,
feel everything.