So you want to own me,
Threaded patience, subtlety,
Bottled rage, love silently,
Naught felt on ears, lest you flee.
Palpate, gnaw flesh, gently,
Ridged skinned, rough, emphatically,
Sighs, under breath, punishingly,
Break loins, chew collar bones, frankly.
Talk is not cheap, exquisite, exclusivity,
Them fighting words, I hand feed, savagely,
Claws, palms, knuckles, ragingly,
We dine, we intoxicate feastingly.
Prattlers carry on ignorantly,
What of love do they have experientially?
Byron, Shakespeare, Wordsworth or Emily?
Hucksters, children, phases of Mockery!
You’ll get over them as soon as you get over yourself.
The only reason you hold your hurt so grand, is that you have been led to believe you are precious.
This has been the single most destructive lie by either being taught, indirectly or directly adapted into your life, through affirmations of others or perhaps this person you once had used it as a mantra to get what they want from you.
You’re not that precious.
If you were, you wouldn’t end up in the same place every single one of us is going, and many greater people have already reconciled with.
So realise when you’re someone’s object of desire, it won’t be fluffy, and gelato licking fun. In fact some like it quite the opposite and outlast the love prattlers, the Romeos and Juliets. Some love the erratics, the fighting, the debating, arguing and call it on, but they’re mature enough not to hold the other persons love to account because of it, and what remains unseen, outstrips the superficiality.
If you think you’re owed this grandeur of love unrivalled, you’re deeply mistaken. Your heart isn’t broken, it’s diseased with egotistical narcissism.