We Will Be Her Angels and Your Snakes. {poetry}
We will be Her angels in rape and pillage
We will love Her, pray to Her, infuse Her with our internal sunlight, warm her with the photosynthesis of Love.
All Posts By:
Christen LaRochelle
Holy Fuck: On Vulnerable, Erotic, Soul-Centered Loving and Caring for Our Planet.
When our heart is broken wide open, there is an invitation to nearly unimaginable receptivity and fantastical courage to inhabit this sort of loving.
You Were Born for Pleasure.
I want you to embrace your sexual nature, and to see that pleasure is not limited to the bedroom or to sex with a partner.
A Letter to the Complicated Women Still Afraid of Their Contradiction.
The world has a box for the beautiful women, the clever women, the interesting women, the vixens, but you say you want to be all this women, while you shun the labels. Who will claim you? A woman who is contradiction: night and day, here and there, everything and nothing?
From Yuck to Yum: Why I Love to Give Head.
Talk with your partner or to a sex coach about any shame regarding this sexual act. Many women hold old belief systems around what is and is not okay to do in the bedroom. The best way to get past these shame triggers is simply to be vulnerable and talk about them.
Soda Machine. {fiction}
'Hang' holds the undisputed title of the greatest devolution of modern language in the context of interpersonal relations, since 'Baby Mama'.
Between the Layers: Can Tenderness Exist Inside Violence?
Memories, once snarled, now lay sorted and stacked, their sharp edges softened and beginning to decay. Within these layers, resolutions have emerged.
Climbing Through the Crayon Box, Searching for Saudade.
But she is never coming back, and I fear that if I look in too deep, I will find that only emptiness is left. What crayon is going to color that?
Dancing Love. {poetry}
Dancing every day is good. I will do it until I die. Dance every day... Dance when I am feeling sexual -- allow sexuality to live in me, to move me, to sparkle and grow and animate my dance.
To the Lover Who Didn’t Know How to Be Loved.
I could be, and in all likelihood am, waiting for something that is never going to come. Then the reality sets in: I am loving someone who doesn’t want to be loved.