She is beautiful. One of the most beautiful things the universe could give. Her presence is impactful, loud and crashing. An energy that fills you up, becomes a part of you. These rushing currents will inspire you to crash harder into the things you love.
I’ll have to admit, at times I hate her. I hate how small she makes me feel, I hate that despite her inviting beauty – I am frightened of her. Of the incredible beasts she holds within and the vulnerability it makes me feel. But this is what makes me feel alive!
She is the woman I want to be: Strong, powerful, beautiful, mysterious and completely free.
She is filled with storms bigger than you or I could ever imagine. Only every now and then will she give a glimpse of her power and beautiful rage. Strong, elegant, Fierce.
If there is one thing I would choose to love, it would be her. What a worthy contender to sit in a room with. Oh the debate, the passion, the good times to have. The tossing and turning in the softest of touch.
I love her, but now – I don’t see her in all her glory. She is scarred and scratched and filled with wounds from a battle she hasn’t even been fighting. A battle with her, well, it simply wouldn’t be fair. How honourable of her to know this. She is the bigger one, the one that rises above. She is not the coward in this story.
The coward, the cruel disgusting most annoying coward is me, it’s you, it’s the one you sleep next to so comfortably at night, your friend, your neighbour, your son and daughter.
We look at her in the face, stare at her beauty, then scratch her on the cheek with a piece of forgotten treasure – we once thought was important and necessary to our lives.
We beat and bruise her with our oily disgusting hands. Taking joy out of this powerful feeling. Suddenly we’ve rendered this beautiful powerful being helpless. Oh the hard-on it gives us. We are disgustingly involved in a relationship with power.
We take from her, pieces of her soul. We take these pieces that make her, her. Make her beautiful and mysterious. The very fucking thing that attracted us to her in the first place are the things we rape her of. Worse yet, we walk away looking proud, blood-stained hands looking like an asshole with a smug smile.
It sounds horrible, disgusting and grotesque. Good, it should – because it is.
We don’t deserve the privilege of her beauty, of having our body wrapped in her scent; salty and sweet. Of feeling her cool touch upon our face. We don’t deserve the privilege of standing next to her, her presence elevating our level of ‘cool’ a thousand times over. Nor do we deserve the energy she gives to us, the elixir of life; without which, we would look pale and poor.
God she is beautiful. My ocean, my love. We don’t deserve your vast blue beauty. I am sorry. I want to fight for you.