Ace Of Queens With An Art Through My Heart

I am asexual. I am aromantic. I should not have to answer questions on why. That should just be accepted, and yet, so few accept this. Because supposedly it “feels good”. To who? To you? Well I’m not you. Everyone is different. Some people like fries, some people don’t, and it’s the same with sex. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you, but since you asked so graciously, I will.

I am a woman. I recognize that. I cannot escape what genetics and history have given me. No matter how many layers of jackets, makeup, hair, and other methods of hiding, that I wear.

I do not like physical contact. I do not like comments on my appearance. I should not have to explain why, and yet, people feel as if they are owed one. They do not. But, again, since you asked so nicely, I will give one. And maybe you, or someone, reading this will listen, and better yet, understand. I have experienced abuse. Physical and emotional. I have been sexually harassed online and in real life. I have been touched when I have not wanted to be. I am insecure. For many reasons. About many things. I have been bullied. By both peers and by people that I should not have been bullied by. I have been talked to in ways that I should not have. By people that I have trusted, that I should not have. I have been reduced to an object, something as tangible as a doll that you can own and play with. Abuse and contort at your own whim, and then thrown away. And I was thrown away. I was not receptive, so I was discarded into the nearest receptacle, without a second thought. Without a care. Without an “Are you okay?” Without anything. And I still lay there. Every night.

I have identified as asexual and aromantic since before some of these events. Do not belittle my sexuality as a response to my trauma. I have never been interested in dating. Even as a child, I never had a crush, or saw a teen celebrity as cute. It just never crossed my mind. It’s always been innate for me. I don’t know why. I can’t control it. I didn’t choose this. But it’s who I am. Is that so wrong? Why does it even matter? Love is love. So love thy neighbor platonically. I love people. I do. Just in my own way. It’s just who I am. And you know what? That’s A-okay.

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