I just realized
How amazing it is
That at the college I went to
I never felt afraid.
I never felt owned.
I never felt shamed.

I didn't even realize how rare this right could be
That I should feel comfortable being myself
And be in my body.

So often, "permissive" cultures
Are also promiscuous cultures.
A flaunting and overdosing of sexuality
In a sexually repressive culture.
So often, "freedom" is only one kind of freedom at a time.

In college, I could be naked, or scantily clad, around so many people.
People I didn't know that well.
The magical part- the right I assumed was pervasive-
Nobody took it as an invitation.
There was trust, and honesty.
Being naked for me was about sharing trust
Sharing "I am comfortable in my skin"
Just my skin, among fellow trusting strangers.

It wasn't weird.
I know that's what you're thinking, and I hate that I know it
And I hate that I will probably never publish this
Because you will think all the wrong things
Even though the point
Was that nobody should think anything about it.

I feel like I should defend myself, even here, against an imaginary "you".
Say things like "it wasn't even sexual- we were just naked, okay?
Sometimes it's innocent."
Which is still the wrong thing to say-
Sex can be innocent, pure and sweet
But that's not what this is.

This is: freedom.
Freedom from a gaze imagined or real
Love of life as it is, unaltered.
Friendship.
Trust.
Belief.

I'm not sure you'll understand
But I mean the same thing when I say I'm happy to be silly sober
That I don't really want to share your drink or your weed
That it's okay to be yourself without an excuse
That you can get to that same level of euphoria
And that same level of flow
Just by letting go

Of course it's not that simple.

I miss dancing naked in the rain
Unselfconscious

I hate that when I try to share this
Or simply dance how I want to whenever
I hate that I have to make a joke out of it, or you do
Like someone's watching.

I learned, faster than I wanted to, that my beautiful breasts look like welcome
Like it's not enough to share with you my joy in freedom
Or even enough to try to hide myself.
That you, looking at me, see something I never wrote branded across my chest

I learned that barefoot, or naked, or singing out loud, are supposed to be couched in other things
Things that let us make excuses for ourselves

In high school, I learned that people treated me nicely
When I wore a tighter shirt.

Nobody deserves to have to learn that.