some kind of manifesto…

something switched in my heart.  the last red light i hit, took me to a wall.  i can no longer give my heart at all, to any man who gives me crumbs, or tries to turn me into somebody i am not for my pretty face and kindness, or who needs me but doesn’t want me.  nor can i open up to a sort of love-blurry lined-messy and confused thing.  nor can i just meet some physical needs.  or some emotional needs.  or parts.  i don’t think there is any turning back.  it’s scarier than ever, cause it means maybe i am alone forever…but i am never alone, so it’s not so scary.  i feel like i have been training to walk on this tight rope for years now, using assistance, like a net below, a safety belt, the hands of others, and a balancing bar…but now it’s just me, walking one foot in front of the other, no tools, no help.  i know there is a man who really will love me for me, even if he doesn’t like every aspect, even if there are triggers and lessons.  i know there’s real intimacy to be experienced, the kind that grows stronger over time.  i know there’s a man, whom without me, feels like life is missing something.  i know it.  and if i am wrong, oh well.  death comes eventually, so no big deal, right?  there is deep sorrow.  and deep anger.  the anger for always being a healing agent for the man.  or step ladder.  or the piece of chocolate cake eaten in secrecy at 2 am, by the light of the open fridge.  i wish to be none of the above.  well, ok, mutual healing, that’s a real thing with intimacy.  but i don’t want to be put to work, to be his priestess.  i know there’s a man who does not need that from me, and who still wants me.  i know there’s a man who isn’t threatened by my wisdom, strength, and power.  i know there’s a man who thinks my tummy is cute.  i know there’s a man who can handle my moods.  i know there’s a man who is willing to learn.  i know there’s a man who is replenished by my love, not burdened by it.  i know i will feel the same way back, as his other, his harmony, his feminine half.  not half, but you know what i mean.  this time around, i am not gonna revert to the old stories that act like heroin in the veins, poisoning me.  i wont give up on men, or love, or life.  i wont tell myself i am not enough or the wrong thing all the time.  i wont judge outwardly or inwardly.  the loss i feel in my heart is beautiful and authentic.  the tears i cry make the sea salty.  there is no more shame.  it’s nobody’s fault, and there is nobody to blame.  life is hard enough as it is, not gonna make it harder by aiming second arrows into my chest.  instead, i shall play the role of artist, choose my tools, and carve out the life i choose, making destiny sculptures with my free will.  i choose to let go of the past.  i choose to believe in true love.  i choose to be the fool and dive head first into the deep end again.   i choose wisdom and folly.  my eyes are ancient trees, and my soul is made of holly.   love is divine.  no amount of rejection, abuse, being used, wrong relationship’s hit and misses, will petrify the romantic juice of my desires.  maybe i need to lower the flames to keep myself steady, but never will those flames be extinguished.  whomever he is…he is lucky.  even though this may never happen, i know it will.  fucking don’t care how vulnerable this blog makes me look or feel. i write this for every human longing for a partner to take their hand.  for every love affair that has the chance to withstand the odds.  for every heart’s wish without rationality dishing out its schtick.  for every creature under the sun and moon, wanting to be loved for exactly who they are.  i don’t even know what i am saying anymore.  i don’t care.  i am careless and free.  sorrowful and happy.  now it’s time to go to sleep and maybe dream about crows again.  wear black again tomorrow.  put the arrow head over my chest again, to shatter illusion.  green calcite in the bra for green lights.  jasmine incense for sultry nights.  amber and gardenia on the wrist.  sunday at the shop.  back to the grist.  walking the tight rope without a thought…in between the lines of have and have-not…