She Doesn’t Need a Man, or a Goddamn Warrior~
She used to though…
She used to though…
Long, long ago.
She used to dream about it and make moonlit wishes on tumbling stars and hope that one day he’d arrive with his mysterious, full heart and laced-up combat boots, ready to fight demons and scatter his endless love.
But not anymore.
Now she needs space, and solitude, and wide-open doors.
She needs air in her lungs and to let life fully seep into the hollow of her bones, and pulse straight through the dusty chambers winding around her heart.
She knows the single path is not always easy—it can feel isolating, harsh, unforgiving, and it is racked in loneliness at times.
However, it forces her to dig far beneath the silken layers of her flesh and to question exactly what ancient potion, stardust, strength, and substance she is made from. And mostly, it makes her feel fiercely alive.
It provokes her to twist and turn, and the lone-wolf road urges her to courageously march onwards, untying and unraveling her knotted quirks and forgiving her flaws as she goes.
In the past, she has fallen for the honeyed charms of gallant men and for charismatic rogues who cleverly disguised themselves as fearless warriors with captivating words—but with their origami feelings neatly padlocked away.
They were temporary, wondrous distractions that caused her to waver and melt, but they burned deep holes in her chest so her guarded, restless mind refused them all and repeatedly told her, “No, this one may feel familiar but, darling, he is not the one for you.”
Although she wasn’t always willing to listen, a higher power inherently knew how to interrupt their callings and found a way to steer her back on track and keep her distanced from heartbreak and harm.
Yes, she feels wretched sadness at times, and there is an aching emptiness hiding in moments that catch her off guard. She craves intimate, soul-deep connections with curious, precious, magnetic souls, but she was meant for far more than to be tied down to one half of a flailing relationship. What she really needs is to breathe in mystery and flutter wild and free.
She is a hurricane within a tornado, and she has her own inner calming, invincible love that keeps her safe and tenderly protected through storm-fueled, long, dark nights.
She is her own silent muse, her own inexhaustible cosmic force, and she is her own goddamn warrior, alone in an entire galaxy wrapped in soft velveteen skin.
She doesn’t need candy-coated promises or commitments smoothly bound with a band of gold, and she definitely doesn’t need to hear four-letter words spoken with enchantment to know her worth.
She only yearns for the sight of the vast ocean, to hear the whisperings from leaves falling from trees, and to feel the wind tangling up her hair to know that she is loved.
She won’t tirelessly search, but if a man, or even a warrior someday appears and he doesn’t try to steal her magic and glow, then she will recognize him and possibly want him near—and though she may cherish and adore him, she will never, ever need him.
She is already everything that she needs.
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Author: Alex Myles
I’ve just read your poem and thought it was very good and told a story.
