True North

I am not calm waters for you to wade your feet in, I am the undertow pulling you to the depths gasping for air
I am not the damsel or the princess, I am the monster and I will devour you only for you to slay me from within
I am not forever, I have no roots and no loyalty. I am free. I will run in the direction of unfamiliarity and adventure without a moment’s notice. Without warning. Without saying goodbye. Without really wanting to leave.
I am not made of stone.
I burn, yearn, bleed, and rip apart at the seams when not handled with care or compassion. When not handled with fragility.
I am not a harlot. I only seek love by dancing the night away with Devils, jesters, and ardorless men that part their lips and trace my skin without passion. I am forsaken
I am not a trophy paraded before the masses to establish your ego.
I am your Achilles heel and I will watch as your hubris destroys you
As your pride destroys us.
I am not flawless.
My nails are chipped and my hair is tangled and I will not apologize for not being plastic or perfect or pretty enough for you.
I am not lion-hearted, I am a scaredy cat left to lick my wounds when the mouse becomes the hunter and I do not get the cream.
I am not crazy, I have strong convictions about how I should be loved and I have no time for the faint-hearted or the fickle.
For one who knows nothing of love or sacrifice but wears his apathy as a badge of honor.
I am not pious. My moral fabric is worn and faded.
I have risen after being cast down by an unforgiving lover
Forgive me father, for I have sinned.
I have bit from the apple.
I have preyed.
I am not a cool drink of water
I will not adulterate myself so that I am easy to swallow or choke down, so that I am easier to chase.
I am rough around more than just my edges
I am abrasive
I am discordant, a cacophony of sweet nothings and battle cries
I am the silence after “I love you” while you wait with baited breath to be saved or slaughtered
I am zealous; rabid with the notion that life is about being destroyed and finding beauty in the disarray rather than turning to stone from looking truth dead in the eyes.
I am an enigma, a conundrum.
I am a riddle that you cannot solve or piece together. I am the labyrinth that you sought your way out of, too eager to escape
I am a glutton for punishment but I find myself famished and starved in your absence. I will no longer devour your scraps.
I am leaving you.
I am finding myself.
I am true North.
And you, my dear, are lost

Monica Torres