Everyone appears more aware of my mastery than my own self. I am voluntarily giving myself away to men, I revel in the beauty they place upon me. I am their god, woman, wild, incomprehensible, and that feeds me. I understand that when a woman pairs with a man, she is fearfully met with the power of who she is. It is not because he gives her such rutilant strength, but because he relies on it, feeds off it, and tries to claim it as his own. I have no genuine want to conquer men or even abandon them altogether. However, in my life, they have never qualified for strength, dependability, or vigor. It is hard to give a man glory when he is made because of a woman. Not through the plight of bearing him but through the creation of his becoming. Without women, there would be no healing. The challenge stands to be finding internal healing and eternal freedom from healing everyone but yourself. Even a warrior has men to catch his heart should it be violently torn from his frame. Yet many women walk the earth for decades, never to find this luxury.
I am the master of offering a slither of my soul to every man who claims he is worthy to receive it. I allow him to feed off my wisdom, joyance, and fortitude. When weakness crawls atop my shoulders and sinks me down into an over-domestication of the woman he needs me to be, my strength becomes unrecognizable. I can only perform the healing he needs from me, and so I must choose. The only solution is to pry me from his hands for the purpose of expansion, of rebirth. When I escape with pride and joy, I am met with his fire and attempts of destruction. It’s the people you love the most who revoke your need for freedom.
Your attempts to destroy me, because of the pain of my absence, are juvenile. Have you forgotten that I was you’re healing, your creation? Your childish temper doesn’t affect me. I cannot be destroyed by a mere man who must minimize the force of an existential woman to mock the experience of honing any self-assurance. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever, my love.