Addressing the "Fight the New Drug" Movement

SOME THINGS THAT KILL LOVE:

• Dishonesty
• Lack of trust
• Abuse
• Cheating
• Oppressiveness
• Lack of respect
• Lack of communication
• Bottling emotions
• Anger
• Taking advantage
• Fear
• Neglect
• Boredom
• Personality changes
• Unrealistic expectations
• Lack of support
• Lack of understanding and/or empathy
• Jealousy
• Greed
• Ultimatums
• Unnecessary criticism
• Stubbornness
• Unwillingness to compromise 
• Silence

SOME THINGS THAT DO NOT KILL LOVE:

• Porn

SOME QUALITIES OF ADDICTS:

• Obsession
• Withdrawal
• Loss of control
• Denial

SOME BEHAVIORS THAT DO NOT EQUATE WITH ADDICTION:

• Occasional use, not overtaking normal daily activities or relationships

SOME TRUTHS ABOUT PORN:

• Some people have real porn addictions. Most people don't.
• It's a healthy way to explore the nuances of your personal sexuality.
• It's not for kids. Obviously.
• Lots of couples use porn to enhance their relationship. These couples love each other.

There is no need to stigmatize porn use. Those who like it use it, those who don't aren't forced to watch. If we use conservative fear-mongering to 'educate' (and I use the term loosely) adolescents to condemn pornography without teaching its panoramic reality, all that will come is unnecessary guilt and denial. Don't confuse them. Porn isn't bad if you know how and when to use it. Just like, well, anything at all. 

You want to make a change for the better? Get better health education in schools. I'm talking five-a-day health and free contraception health. Fight against child abuse. Take a stand for minority rights. Get kids involved in politics. Raise awareness for the homeless, for the mentally ill, for the at-risk. Overthrow the patriarchy. Buy organic. Support your local businesses. These are all way more important issues than porn. Pick one. Run with it. Make a difference. 

And stop spreading lies about porn.

Stifled Photosynthesis

I wasn't crying because of the words, I was crying before that, playing to keep me from crying again. Wishing I could peel back my own layers, avoiding the answer I already know. That is why we fall in love, to have someone else skin us to the bone. Tell me, Love, am I fated to carry my false covers until the day I die? Tell me, Love, is it better that I cling to my layers until I can no longer distinguish them from the rotten core beneath, starved of sunlight? Or moonlight, I suppose. That is your usual mode of exposure, is it not, Love? Regardless. I no longer bathe in either. I talk too much of you, I think too much of you, I want too much of you, I want too much from you. Let me steal you and slip you in, away from the spotlight. Am I exposed or adding yet another mutinous layer? Let me smile and tell you too many times the same old stories. Let me name my fractions and feed them to you. If you met me in a dark alley would you run away from my weapons? Or would you know of my inability to wield them? There is nothing I can wield anymore. Not my music nor my poetry nor my innocence nor my excuses. Nothing to fight with. No one to fight for. No opponents, no audience. Just layers and mascara smudges down my cheeks and an intense thirst for more than this, what lies before me.