5|24|24It’s Nyjaè, and I’m sending love and light to all you Gems! This poetic piece came to me randomly as I reflected on my transformation journey, inspired by stories I heard in college.
The Body Collector x Nyjaè. I
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“I am here collecting bodies. What should I do?” is a question that runs rampant. I lay here again, my heart pounding out of my chest; the silence in the room makes it all the more noticeable. Hmm, this man. What can I say? I don’t want him to think I’m looking at him randomly. Although, I am… I know he exists. Now, that act is over. I honestly want him out of my midst. I am constantly offering my body as bait to another man who can’t give me what I need. I already know his position regarding me, which ultimately serves his fate. Outside of pleasing, the intellectual conversation was also gratifying… sometimes.
But he really can’t even relate. He tries to maintain conversations that are beyond his recollection of plausible understanding. Honestly, I knew I was out of his reach. Is this what women do to be sexually pleased? Well, here it goes… the cycle begins. The blunder of going through, “I don’t want much. We can be friends,” when we both know, in our minds, it’s beyond that. He disappears once the sheets are lifted; there's no trace of him, no rendezvous to seek. The exhilaration that once soared in my mind no longer fills this chapter of my life, but in its absence, I find peace.
As one man leaves, another isn’t far behind. They say when you miss one bus, another one comes and falls in line. Because of the many facets of me, they’ll be inclined to find. This woman looks so whole in their steady eye frame yet craves intimacy in many ways. She offers her body as bait to escape these voided feelings, settling for the simple touch to help a man get his ejaculation while her mind is turning wheels. It’s like a song you replay over and over. I am inclined to race against time. Is this what I am settling for? Me having to close my eyes… so the passion that burns deep won’t run you away, and I only see you in my dreams.
The men, they come and go. Yet here I am, living in the shadows and strategically wondering what’s next for me. “Girl, why are you taking your body through these atrocities? You need to heal and let your body be.” I know those things are needed. There is something about another human’s body heat on me. They fill all of the voids that I seem to want to ignore. I don’t want to feel or get too attached. That is why I do what I do and don’t allow them to return. Here and there are the words that cross my mind. They take up their own space, and I take up mine. There is no stay and cuddle.
There is minimal embrace.
They are them, and I am me.
I handle the heavy weight of what he and I both tend to neglect in our trance, awakened by the intensity of whatever the ‘love-making process’ breeds. In reality, when his high comes down, he knows I don’t want him. The deed is done; put on your clothes and move the fuck on.
Photo Cred: Pinterest
Still, I wonder, “Why am I here collecting bodies? What should I do?” Maybe I should try to find love. My mind ventures into fantasies of what helps me cling to the bodies of those I don’t know. Is it the passion that comes with their strokes? Maybe the physical touch pacifies the body language I yearn for. I digested all these emotions I was forced to swallow, not trying to spew them out and make a man think I couldn’t be vulnerable.
The room grows still.
There is silence.
I’m caught in the center, which helps me sense the essence of their energy, which is captured right next to him.
I knew that, somehow, I would never speak to him again. As a woman, I am forced to wear this persona constantly—the nurturing side. I strive to heal all the parts of a man who pretends not to want love. It is the most excruciating experience. I want something that is tangibly mine. It isn’t about ownership; I want someone fully committed to being mine. There’s no fighting, sharing, or arguing. Instead, I constantly go through the process of explaining myself to another person. “How did such a beautiful woman end up like this? What did she experience? What did those men do?”
Men don’t honestly care, do they? Marshawn Lynch said, “You know why I’m here.”
I yearn for closeness but don't want to continue offering men the broken parts of me. From the depths of my abandonment issues, trauma bonding became the lifeline that held you and me together. We tried to rush into an embrace after one commonality through our own mistakes. I honestly want to heal. Along the way, I think of all the emotions that made me “The Body Collector.”
I never took the time; I hopped from one situation to another. This became such a new normal that my knees don’t buckle. I would no longer shiver nor grow weak. All my nervousness ultimately dissipated upon constant meetings. I knew what was to come. This felt like fate, using other human bodies for my healing. Amidst the toxicity surrounding the attachments I had drawn upon, I defined my boundaries and imagined them anew.
That was the end.
This was what excavated me going into my defeat.
I exploited their emotions; I used their bodies like they used mine. I remained focused on the present, never worrying about what came next, knowing how to disconnect. I took Psychology; I was taught to linger on what one says, make eye contact, and let them know you are listening and caring.
But I was different as a Body Collector.
In my mind, there was no coming back for me. I was who I was.. at the expense of whomever I tread over doing all that is me. No one else mattered.
I learned to connect with their worries, issues, and fears. I said whatever I needed to get them to bed. I lied, coaxed their egos, and got in their heads. I knew what I wanted. The decision was never theirs. The more bodies I collected, the heavier tread marks found themselves imprinted on my trafficked body as a path. There are so many bodies that lie in wait—ones that I have yet to experience. Yet, they know not their fate. With each deepening trauma, more intense hardships were thrown my way. I took on so much.
I saw a need; I was trying to help them escape like me.
Erykah Badu’s “Bag Lady” rings in my ears. Gem, all these bags I carry weigh me down. I am nowhere near where I need to be. I was collecting bags and bombarding myself with bodies. Once someone allows others into their yoni space, whatever is in them is passed on through a transferable portal. You never know what spirits or bodies are lingering; you never know what you’re going to get.
“I’m here collecting bodies. What am I doing? How do I escape?” Everyone tries telling me about myself; I know I must stop collecting bodies. But how can I? While on top of me, they express how much they love me, and it’s the captivity of my love language that devours that energy. It’s their words that affirm my behavior. Those little moments where my body meets its resting place—where the touch of my love language is betwixt by what my body considers intimacy. It all leaves me yearning for more of the same.
I wanted to do more than collect bodies; I was once sane.
Here I stand, living in the aftermath of all the souls who've crossed my path. I took action, turning them into another weary soul burdened by my influence. "The Body Collector" has a certain ring to it. I longed for simpler things yet lost the most essential parts of myself. I gave myself to all these troubled and exhausted hearts.
Who was the actual Body Collector? Me or them?
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Gem, share this with someone who is healing and forgiving themselves for settling for less.
I hope you enjoyed this transparent piece. I pray it helps you realize that many of us have been through similar experiences. There's no need for judgment; it's all the more reason to reflect and bond. -Nyjaè.
From the writer: My pen name is Nyjaè. I hail from the small city of Fort Pierce, FL. I’ve always been in love with the adventurous aspects of writing. It gave me a getaway to hide from the world. It also gave me a space to navigate through pain, sorrow, and heartbreak. The love of writing helped me nurture my craft. From there, sixteen beautiful books have flourished from the pen name. There’s so much more to come. Thank you, SIT, for the opportunity. I’m sending love, peace, and positivity to all Gems!
Connect with Nyjaè:
Instagram: nyjae_love
Facebook: Nyjaè Ingram
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BGKSDSJG
TikTok: nyjae_love
Website coming soon!
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