How bad do you want him?



“I want to be with you,
More than anything I want to be with…”

He interrupted her, “Really?”

She nodded with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Enough to want to see five of me?”

She paused as she struggled to comprehend.

“Because that’s how bad I want to be with you,
I want to see your face recreated five times in children
we have.”

She didn’t reply

– W.E.

Egoïste – 19


How far you’re willing to bend will determine the magnitude of your love.

Love is contortion
You must be willing
to bend your mind,
body and more importantly,
your soul to suit it’s confines.
Real lovers do this without
being told.
They find Him

What do I see in a woman



They ask me what I see in a woman

It’s neither hair colour, eye colour, width or length,
But perhaps a set of warm eyes draped in turmoiled strength.

It’s neither skin colour, cheekbones or curves and bends,
But perhaps the sweet fragrance her soul sends.

It’s neither attitude, anger, poise or wit,
But perhaps her relentlessness tenacious grit.

I don’t want a woman to prize my collection,
Neither do I want her to pander my affection,
As mentioned already I don’t care for her complexion,
She just has to be everything except perfection.

I want her hurt, her suffering, her troubles and woes.
I want her nightmares and dreams and tantrum throws.

I want her sadness, pain all bottled inside,
I want her incessant demand to never confide.

I want her unsureness and indecisiveness too,
I want her constant and perpetual blues.

I want her doubt and desperation all in one,
I want her forgetfulness when she decides to run.

I want her ‘I love yous, I hate yous’ mixed together,
I want her lost loves that she holds forever.

She can keep them all, I’ll never deprive her,
Because it means something’s alive inside of her.

And if that’s what keeps her going, allows her to tick
Perhaps if I’m tock, it will do the trick.

She’ll love me back despite my myriad of flaws
She’ll know I’ll kill for her even with my claws.

Perhaps if she’s fire, brimstone, volcanic eruption
It’s ok, I’ll be water, anti-sulphur, and earth for consumption.

If she’s rage and hurricane and tornado for days,
I’ll be calm, the butterfly and the blade of grass that sways.

If she cries, is sorrowful, wishes for death
I’ll be her eyes, joy and a new breath.

I simply do not care for your boxes and ticks, I’m far too developed to be confined by the limits of societal suggestions on beauty and love.

I’ve found the flutter of my heart in the braces of a teen girl in my own teens, too bashful to do anything but exchange smiles with her for years on end catching the same train. She had Pocahontas hair, night eyed with a penetrating stare; no one looked at her but me.

I’ve found excitement and thrill in the uncaring coldness of a light haired, blue eyed Caucasian beauty. She kept me chasing for more without a hint of returning any affection.

I’ve found obsession and devotion in the almond eyes and autumn hair of a girl that was never ever socially and culturally acceptable, slim, celebrity looks and a juxtaposed nature of cold to warm, all was well until she lost my trust.

And now, my heart resides elsewhere to it all without denying the previous influence with gratitude. She’s given me all of the above and more. Re-read it if you must, I’m not exaggerating, all of it. But she’s been my pillar for thirteen years more. She’s endured with me through the thick of it and that’s why when I get to the thin of it, she’ll enjoy all the spoils of war. Even my crown she so delicately has woven with the tapestry of selflessness I will plate in Gold and put in on her head.
For now, she remains in the shadows but soon you’ll all know her.