The Many Faces of Her: A Confession

Flowers don’t have ego.

I often think to myself, how do I protect women from the heartache of knowing me on the inside. How do you stop a pulse and block an artery without suffocating the windpipes into a bloodbath? The answer is as thin as the razorblades I leave on the skin when I begin to disappear. To protect you from your own fantasy, at least I say, but do I really?

I started to trip on my own mind when I noticed a void of a soft landing. If I forget to make my own bed, how do you expect me to hold you in satin sheets with no form. I do not speak from a position of loss, but a new found discovery. A question, am I an emotion or an experience? If I was both, then what is lost?

In skipping rocks I finally fell into the abyss, a darkness with only a ladder and no compass. A journey of ego in a naked body — Am I trying to protect women from me, or am I guarded in my own insecurities and do not want them to be seen? Filthy when naked; bleeding when stripped. Who am I fooling. Is my hesitance a debris of past lovers still trying to find me, or perhaps new homes just make me nervous. I do not know a definitive, but I am learning the energy I become when a woman taps me on the shoulder for a hug. Recently through a friend, I am discovering that I live a duality with no separation. Stuck between man and divinity; my defense mechanisms do not protect me from my own darkness. I can fake one emotion, but cannot escape the root of attachment because I am an enigma. My outer layer evokes emotion and oozes empathy. Therefore, bodies flock to me not knowing I am built of barbed wire. A spider web of everything to pray for and many reasons to run from. When women fall in love with me, they learn to breathe without breathing and I am the cause. Let me explain.

Being elusive by nature grants me the illusion of permanence. I reek of this energy and women — like magnets, orbit to make space for these thoughts. Out of necessity, I’ve given water. Out of loneliness, I’ve fed the monster, and out of fear, I’ve ran. Still learning to subdue the arousal in the fall. The decaying of ego and the handshakes of a new heart. The abyss is beautiful when you’re suspended in the air until the mind searches for a gleamer of God only to find his reflection, broken —but I am his child. Which brings me to my next question. Does fire know that it burns? No. Then how do do you teach fire that it burns? Every time it touches you, you show it that it hurts. For a long time I never identified as the sun — not knowing I was a wildfire to a small village. Have you ever seen a tsunami swallow a child out of instinct? I don’t want to inflict this pain anymore. I am learning quickly, that beautiful things get birthed out of unfortunate events.

In the past, I have provided the ground by fading away. But when you falsify a pulse out of fear to commit, you become a band-aid hurting the same wound you’re trying to protect. Women do not need saving. They are not artifacts for protection nor are they trial runs for a heart still in adolescent. I want to create closure for those who are still falling, those I didn’t warn and those who didn’t know that I too, am still — falling.

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