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.


LouisaJaneWestJane 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.


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