On Being Ace by Fen

Today we have another poem by an artist interviewed for this site (Fen’s interview will be posted on April 21st).  It’s a poem about the experience of being an asexual in a relationship with a sexual person.  According to Fen: “I wrote it after a friend asked me what it’s actually like to be ace, and it really helped a lot more of my friends to understand when they read it, too.“

Warning:  this may contain images that sex-repulsed aces wouldn’t want to read.


I am terrified of sex
Not because I think you’ll hurt me
But because sex would require you to actually be… involved
Because sometimes when you look at me I think of the way I look at cookies
(Damn, I love cookies)
If I could eat cookies without making myself sick then oh boy
I would be fat within a week

That’s how you look at me

And it’s not that you’re viewing me as an object, something to eat (we have had that conversation and I’m sick of it)
And it’s not that you’re not appreciating my beauty


If there is a perfectly round cookie, I get a certain amount of pleasure in admiring it
How, despite the hardships of being beaten and filled full of hard lumps and
Baked alive, oh my Gods
It still came out
A perfect circle

And then I will eat that shit right up because
Goddamn I love cookies

And that’s how you look at me
That’s how I can tell you’re
Wishing you could have sex with me
One more time

And it’s not that I think you’ll hurt me
I just can’t stand the thought of
Your mouth
Breaking me down
Into bite-size pieces

You’ll tell me how you love the way my
Body shapes itself when I
The way legs join ass joins back is just

And I’m aware I’m going to seem ungrateful (because what business do I have asking for love without sex)


I want you to look at me like you look at
The sunset, knowing it’s the only one of it’s kind you’ll ever see in this moment, yesterdays is not this one and tomorrows won’t be either
The Milky Way, stretching horizon to horizon, infinite and yet so limited by your naked eye
The storms you sit inside and watch with awe as the hail shatters windows and the thunder sets off car alarms and the
Clear blue skies and crisp clean air you breathe afterwards
I want to be art
Because you wouldn’t stick your dick in the Mona Lisa – well, I’m hoping you wouldn’t

The thing is, I used to be this ever-refilling cookie jar
We never realised the good stuff was making me ill and would eventually run out, leaving you heartbroken and me just …

Now there’s one cookie left
At the bottom of the jar
Perfectly round


~ Fen
(Fen can be found on Tumblr and Archive of Our Own)

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