Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

Abstract

ounds with one hand while we hold a shield with the other. Make us do this again and again until those rough edges have been worn away. Until we realize we are <i>all </i>carrying shields and there is nothing to defend against.</p><p id="ab98"><b>I invite you, destiny. </b>Crawl into my bed and laugh, knowing how hard I work to control my life when I really can’t control anything, at all. Remind me of the unseen influences at work. Show me the shiny filaments of your web out of the corner of my eye so that I might be comforted by it pattern and presence.</p><p id="1e45"><b>I invite you, grief.</b> I do not want you. But I invite you. I do not crave you. But you will come, nonetheless. And you will recreate me, bone by bone.</p><p id="9017"><b>I invite you, curiosity. </b>Teach me to desire this exploration. Lure me into the dark woods, where I can wander for days, looking, touching, smelling. I want to know it all.</p><p id="9712"><b>I invite you, desire.</b> Unfold me. Open me to the endless depths of this wanting. The kind that is so deep and so strong that it hurts. The kind that makes me want to clutch my stomach. The kind that makes me want to cry. The kind that makes me feel like I will shrivel and die if I don’t get what I need. <i>Right. Now.</i> Rip me open and expose me to the cosmos, where I will spiral into nothing and everything.</p><p id="7e62"><b>I invite you, tenderness.</b> Remind me how to hold the things I love with a gentle grasp. To treat everything like a butterfly on its way to somewhere else. Even my own sweet self.</p><p id="dd8e"><b>I invite you, passion.</b> Consume me in your bonfire. Lick at my heels with your flames. Take me into you and alchemize me into another being, one who has succumbed to the madness of the wild beast inside her, one who has lost her inhibitions, one who has stopped giving a <i>single fuck</i>.</p><p id="6cb2"><b>I invite you, love. </b>Let me open like a flower embracing a thirsty bumblebee. Let me give my nectar freely, nourishing another. Nourishing the world. Let me feel the swell of this warmth in my chest, the pressure of my heart beating like a happy drum.</p><p id="46dc"><b>I invite yo

Options

u, joy. </b>Ravage me.</p><figure id="972b"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*cp7mmQjOhaxTjm5KhoDtYA.jpeg"><figcaption>Graphic: Yael Wolfe / Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@marcusdallcol?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Marcus Dall Col</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/moon-marcus?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></figcaption></figure><p id="ce78"><b>This article was written for <a href="https://medium.com/sexography/howl/home"><i>Howl by Yael Wolfe</i></a>, a weekly column. </b>© <a href="https://readmedium.com/d02ca71a13d6?source=post_page-----48345972f61a----------------------">Yael Wolfe</a> 2020</p><p id="b354"><i>More <b>liberation </b>from <b>Howl </b>by Yael Wolfe:</i></p><div id="7750" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/what-does-dirty-girl-really-mean-1663f48e18cb"> <div> <div> <h2>What Does “Dirty Girl” Really Mean?</h2> <div><h3>Are we failing to call out invisible sexism in the bedroom? Or is this just a harmless moniker?</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*w1a2IVAYV11Vg0X18prQHg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="1e30" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-revolutionary-act-of-pursuing-female-sexual-fulfillment-a8eb97a16b54"> <div> <div> <h2>The Revolutionary Act of Pursuing Female Sexual Fulfillment</h2> <div><h3>Women deserve to shamelessly pursue their orgasms — and to know how to do that!</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*aj-pk6K78sQY-O0Js6Yi7w.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Howl

I Invite You

The alchemy of female receptivity in the bedroom

I am a woman. My body is a vessel. I am transformed by what I invite into my bed. Into my body.

I want to receive. I want to be transformed.

I invite you, discomfort. Come into me and make it hard for me to sit still. Make me feel like I’m going to come out of my skin if I have to endure one more second of this. Turn everything I know upside-down. Make me afraid that nothing will ever be the same again. (And it won’t.) Turn me into something new.

I invite you, sorrow. I open my legs in welcome. Let the walls around me crumble. Let me feel the world with my whole heart, even if it shatters me. Let me know the darkest depths of the human soul — and that none of us ventures into it alone.

I invite you, pain. Break me. Scar me. Do your worst. I will be rebuilt stronger with the resilience to endure the damage you’ve inflicted — and whatever comes next.

I invite you, danger. Remind me that predictability is not something to celebrate. Make my heart pound as I prepare to jump from this rutted path, as I stand on this precipice. Comfort me with the knowledge that no matter what happens, my soul will have expanded with the sweet wind of possibility.

I invite you, anger. Sweep me up in your wildfire. Give strength to my voice so I can howl, wail, scream. Let it carry across the oceans, across the galaxies. Let the unjust turn to ash. Fortify me so I do not back down. Because I will not back down.

I invite you, discord. Make our rough edges rub against one another. Make it hard to communicate. Make us defensive and prickly. Make us cover our wounds with one hand while we hold a shield with the other. Make us do this again and again until those rough edges have been worn away. Until we realize we are all carrying shields and there is nothing to defend against.

I invite you, destiny. Crawl into my bed and laugh, knowing how hard I work to control my life when I really can’t control anything, at all. Remind me of the unseen influences at work. Show me the shiny filaments of your web out of the corner of my eye so that I might be comforted by it pattern and presence.

I invite you, grief. I do not want you. But I invite you. I do not crave you. But you will come, nonetheless. And you will recreate me, bone by bone.

I invite you, curiosity. Teach me to desire this exploration. Lure me into the dark woods, where I can wander for days, looking, touching, smelling. I want to know it all.

I invite you, desire. Unfold me. Open me to the endless depths of this wanting. The kind that is so deep and so strong that it hurts. The kind that makes me want to clutch my stomach. The kind that makes me want to cry. The kind that makes me feel like I will shrivel and die if I don’t get what I need. Right. Now. Rip me open and expose me to the cosmos, where I will spiral into nothing and everything.

I invite you, tenderness. Remind me how to hold the things I love with a gentle grasp. To treat everything like a butterfly on its way to somewhere else. Even my own sweet self.

I invite you, passion. Consume me in your bonfire. Lick at my heels with your flames. Take me into you and alchemize me into another being, one who has succumbed to the madness of the wild beast inside her, one who has lost her inhibitions, one who has stopped giving a single fuck.

I invite you, love. Let me open like a flower embracing a thirsty bumblebee. Let me give my nectar freely, nourishing another. Nourishing the world. Let me feel the swell of this warmth in my chest, the pressure of my heart beating like a happy drum.

I invite you, joy. Ravage me.

Graphic: Yael Wolfe / Photo by Marcus Dall Col on Unsplash

More liberation from Howl by Yael Wolfe:

What Does “Dirty Girl” Really Mean?

Are we failing to call out invisible sexism in the bedroom? Or is this just a harmless moniker?

medium.com

The Revolutionary Act of Pursuing Female Sexual Fulfillment

Women deserve to shamelessly pursue their orgasms — and to know how to do that!

medium.com