What Princesses Really Want. {poetry}
I want to run my fingers through his pelt
Matted with mud
And with blood.
I want my neck to shake
With his smoke-stained breath,
I want to be caressed by its bitterness.
To be trapped by his hunger
I want to be his finest kill
As the clock is pulled by the pendulum,
Or the waves are moved by the moon.
I want the blood-lust from the battles he fought
To rub salt into my savaged wounds.
I do not want smooth marble castles,
I want mortar eaten away by nature.
I want the smell of wet moss and wood rot
To seep into my lover’s lair
I want leaves and insects
Crawling across our bed
I want his fur stuck together
With dragons he’s slain,
And women that couldn’t move on.
I want my chamber to be scattered
With reminders that I am not the first
Nor the last,
Captive to his promise of forever
I want the animals he catches between his teeth
The men he breaks beneath his claws,
I want the thorny riches of decay
To adorn our fortress walls
I want his glance to burn me to ashes,
To search for answers in the storm
I want my freedom kept as a trophy
Turning treasure into sin
I want to be slain at the feet of his hunter,
To be trampled on by mud-caked boots
I want to be sacrificed
At the altar of his armor
I want my possessions to belong to him
I want to be kept in a box of precious things
Lipstick shattered across my face
Chained by honeyed handcuffs
I want to be owned by him
As the ocean belongs to orcas
And the endless, flat plain of the Savannah
Is ruled by golden lions
I want the cobwebs of my passion
To spin a moat around our fort
I want jealousy to mask my face with fire
I want sex, bright-black and burnished
I want to let the wild dogs loose
Upon the moors of my heart
I want them ravishing the wildlife
With utter disregard
I want to fashion a crown
From teeth and shell and sinew
I want to sit in the throne of chaos
And be coronated by criminals.
I want this tiara upon my head
Glittering with dead skin
To be worn, as Saturn wears her ring
Of debris, ellipted by a dusty orb
I want him to tear away my robe
My cloak cast far away
I want to be left naked except for
Jewels, cut from the winds of nature
I want my wildness to be mocked
I want raging to be called sweet
I want a sword to slice through spells,
I want weapons to slaughter charm
I want kingdoms to tremble
when they hear my name
Entwined with his.
I want my marriage to be a war cry
I do not want to teach him
How to be a Prince
I want him to teach me,
How to be a monster.
***
Jane West is a writer, recovering alcoholic, life-coach and philosopher. She studied female sexuality and communication for two years (and then for the rest of her life). She likes sadness as much as she likes happiness, and the truth above everything. She likes quotations and believes in past lives, astrology and magic. She grew up in London and recently moved to San Francisco. Find out about coaching with her at her website.