We all have mornings when we wake up and the lover next to us seems like a stranger. Early hours when last nights actions hang heavy or fall flat in the room. Those kinds of mornings happen to me a lot, more than most people actually. It’s not because I don’t care deeply about my sexual partners, but because I have chosen a polyamorous lifestyle. On those days, I look over at the pillow next to me and feel awkward, a bit too wild, a bit too unhinged. When I finally excuse myself, something we all try and maneuver gracefully, I return home. Not to an empty house but to a primary partner, my primary partner. And although we have an open relationship, one founded in trust and respect, I am torn between my performance in the moment and the one I embodied so fully the night before. I feel both entitled and taken apart by my experience with another lover. These feelings and situations have been prevalent in my life since I began pondering/practicing/performing polyamory. While it’s becoming more common (they even have a polyamory awareness and acceptance ribbon campaign) it still remains an experimental and radical form of
