I Am Not For Sale.
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I am not for sale. I cannot be bought. Not for all the pretty things you gave.
It is only true love that I crave. My heart can’t be won like some prize, given away. All the tricks of the trade, the flash and the cash — didn’t you listen when I said it wouldn’t make me stay?
Knock me down off my pedestal and scoop me up in your arms. Love me despite my imperfections, not because you refuse to see them. My flaws give me context, make my beauty more complex. You’re missing what’s best, staring blindly away, loving what’s in your head: your idea of me, not the whole truth of me.
An open book with a lovely cover, yes, but impossible to be your best when you hadn’t even started reading the rest — peeling back my pages, one at a time. We hadn’t begun.
You say you love me as if it’s a solution, but when I ask who you are, you don’t know. In your mind there’s pollution and I became another distraction, adding to the fog. When you don’t clear space through asking Why, you do what you do and the days go by, but what will you know on the day that you die?
That you did this, you did that, the boxes you ticked; but if you had another chance, is this life that you’d pick? The Why leads the way; without it, I don’t believe what you say. I can’t tell you what yours is, but I am not the answer.
Buy me this, give me that, it’s all very well; but don’t assume I’ll fall under your spell. I won’t. Showering me with gifts doesn’t melt my heart. The dynamic shifts when you start to pay, instead of paying attention to me. Presents instead of Presence.
And the expectation is there; make no mistake, to overlook the compulsive computer time, the gaping space in the bed, the messy un-dealt-with past issues. All the words in the world wont magically wipe real away.
If you knew me, like you said you do, you’d never insult me with You’d never have to work again. Rather reach in and rip out my beating heart, than slowly suffocate me with that level of suppression. Reduce me to a whore? To other girls that may be fine, but I’m not in the profession of prostitution. I choose a life that is mine.
Add water, instant wife won’t work this time. Been there, done that. Money doesn’t create comfort, connection does. Someone else’s financial security is not the stability I want. I stand on my own two feet. I march to my own drumbeat. I want a lover and a friend, not something that’s pretend. That looks good on paper.
I want; want, not need. I want to lie on the floor, with bloodied knees from the fall, staring into the eyes of the someone I want and adore. I want to do nothing with him. To be undistracted. Focused on discovery, extraction. Tell me your madness and I’ll tell you mine, let our souls intertwine but remain our own.
I won’t give him my heart, it’s mine to sustain, but I’ll let him in, to all of me.
I will honor, not obey — sharing in truth, individuality leading the way. Holding hands, but standing apart, we’ll walk this journey one step at a time.
For now, I’d rather not know, than accept something just for show.
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