As I shove Cracker, my censor, off the stage, he screams that social mores should be enough to keep my mouth shut. With knees a wobbling and spine chills, I reach the podium and whisper. I am afraid, I am afraid of you. But, I am helplessly, irresistibly attracted into your magnetic force. I must face this fear or be forever blocked. There are no rewards without risk. Perhaps as I draw nearer, I will be thrown in the metal scrap pile again. They don’t call me a master recipient of rejection for nothing.
Yet I am starved to touch and be touched. I hunger for passion and the intimacy that goes with it. So, here I am uncensored and naked. I lay before you exposed and I am at your mercy. I must leap in faith that your net will appear. I am getting out of the way to allow you to flow your magic through me. If we have these gifts, we are supposed to use them. Maybe you are shocked or offended or possibly even a little flattered. I must discover which because this has been consuming me and I must release the rumbling volcano inside. Will I erupt in joy and prove Cracker wrong or will he tell me I told you so when I am doused back into dormancy?
I crave to feel alive again. Will you play with me?