I am not your puzzle to put together. I will not fit your form. I am an undulating storm. I will gather my skirts like billowing gusts of winters; air, I will bite at your cheeks. I will leave you begging for blankets, twisting in my sheets.
If you have need of order, find another.
I am done with boxes, locks, and ties. I will love you. Hard. Completely. Discreetly. Without shame.
I do not take your heart for granted. I will not consume you, as others would have done to you. I will expect you to run wild and free. And when you need to be held, my hands are open. Always open. Accepting.
My eyes will take drunken, lasting gazes over you. These eyes, they burn with passion.
I am too wise for what is the latest gossip, or your notions of fashion.
I have grown too large for the small minded places you will put me. I am not your mother, daughter, whore. I will break the glass at the ceiling and refuse to sweep the floor.
What is more?
I will define my success as happiness. As my own. As a birthright devined to me by my mere existence.
I will determine myself worthy. You don’t get a vote anymore. Your opinion of me, is ugly.
I am done caring what you think. I will drink in the nectar from the vine. I will call this victory
I will call me… Mine.