Holy. Sensual. Mine

I have lived most of my life

Locked inside a body I didn’t feel free in.

Tense. Tight. Waiting.

Like a flame wrapped under wet cloth,

Like a woman who knew there was more

But wasn’t allowed to reach for it.

I grew up with silence around sex

And Scripture around shame.

“Good girls wait,” they said.

“Holy women hide desire”, they preached.

So I buried my body beneath layers of

Obedience

And whispered moans into pillow

Instead of prayers into heaven.

I was told to close my legs

but never taught to guard my heart.

I gave my body to men

Who never earned it-

Who touched me but never truly saw me.

They didn’t worship, didn’t cherish, didn’t choose me.

They came for convenience,

Not the covenant.

And I let them.

Because somewhere deep down,

I believed that’s all I was worth.

But not anymore!

Something shifted the day I laid with Bruce

Seven years of untouched skin

Met by the wrong hands.

And when it was over,

I didn’t just feel exposed.

I felt cracked wide open.

Not broken.

Awakened.

That day I met the woman inside me

Who’d been waiting patiently to be

remembered.

The one who knows she is sacred.

The one who carries God and fire in her hips.

The one who is a walking temple,

not a temporary thrill.

She rose up and said:

“No more giving away what must be earned.”

“No more shrinking to make men feel strong.”

“No more silencing your moans or your mind.”

I am not ashamed of wanting.

Of feeling heat between my thighs

Or longing for a man to fill me with more

than just flesh

But presence. Partnership. Peace.

Yes, the thought of his dick throbbing

Inside me

Makes my spine arch in dream,

And the memory of a tongue on my clit

Has tried to haunt my sleep.

But I am not weak.

I pray through the ache.

I breathe through the fire.

I hand my hunger to God

And say, “Keep it safe for my husband.”

Because this body is no longer on sale.

It’s under divine reservation.

This is not repression.

This is Power.

My abstinence isn’t punishment

It’s preparation.

Because when I give again,

It won’t be out of loneliness

Or confusion

Or false intimacy.

It’ll be because a man chose me daily.

Because he worked to know me

Before he ever touched me.

Because he values the covenant

More than the climax.

I’ve been discarded, overlooked,

Misunderstood

But not anymore.

I am the prize.

I am the motherfucking table, not the leftovers.

And if you can’t handle the heat of this body, you don’t get the fire.

There is holy sensuality in me

Not a contradiction,

But a divine design.

I can speak in tongues and ride it slow.

I can worship in spirit

and still want my back arched

and my name to be chanted like a liturgy

By the man who chose all of me.

That is not a sin.

That is sacred.

God did not make my body a battlefield for doctrine and denial.

He made it fertile ground, meant to bloom under love.

So I reclaim her

The sensual, sacred, smart, sexy me.

The me who writes and moans and dreams and dares.

The me who is no longer waiting for her

Permission

To be all of who she is.

I used to be hostage inside my own skin,

But now I am the warden,

The keyholder,

The gatekeeper of this temple and God is the owner.

And the next man who enters

Will do so through prayer, through pursuit,

Through partnership and patience.

Because I am not just a woman

I am a wonder.

And I will only unfold

For a man who understands

That love is a choice,

Not a convenience.

I was once hidden.

Now I shine.

I was once bound.

Now I rise.

This body is mine

To give, not to surrender.

To offer, not to compromise.

And when I cum, it will be in a love that holds me

After the climax has passed.

Because only God’s love is unconditional.

And the man who gets me

Will know that choosing me

means choosing this fire, this softness,

This spirit, this storm,

Every single day.