#something something love me like a stray mutt loves the slab of raw meat thrown by the butcher.

[chilapis]

i see many a post about love languages; people detailing how they love and love and love. but i never see any posts of how people long to be loved; i think that ought to be changed.

i don’t think i care to be loved with words or to be treated as a muse. creation is a symbol of civility & i have never wished to be loved with such. my civility imprisons me and i think myself as a caged bird, held by bars of etiquette and reddened formality. i wish to be loved freely and without care; i wish to be loved vulnerably. i yearn to be loved like catharsis. i imagine myself not as bruised, but stabbed. the knife is still inside, and it pains me, but it’s one with me and it keeps me from bleeding. i wish to be loved & bandaged but first i crave the weapon’s cruel absence; foreign yet necessary. this is what i mean by catharsis. i wish to be allowed to bleed, to spray the holy white of a saviour’s clothes with my crimson. not with sin or filth but with a piercing affection and gratitude.

i wish not to be made an idol placed on a pedestal for my place is not as a muse and i do not wish to be regarded as one. i am not heaven and i am not in the sky. i am the earth and the sea and i am immense and i am volatile. i want a love with claws and teeth and tears and pleas. i want to be loved animalistically and overwhelmingly. i want a love that suffocates; drowning in sweet honey is drowning nonetheless. i wish for a love not fragrant of fresh flowers and fruit but of iron and burning wood. i crave an affection reminiscent not of the blinding rays of sunlight or the smell of old books, but of the comforting depth inside when i close my eyes, a depth that’s personal to me and myself alone, unseen by others, unknown by others.

i do not want to be loved through polite formalities or sweet nothings laced with an empty softness. i can only be loved through a scorching scarlet. grace me with the warmth of your arms and leave me alone not for a second, for i may crumble and disappear forevermore if left with no anchor to hold onto. if i am to be a caged bird than i’d rather my bars be the teeth of a wolf carrying its prey by the neck.