Let me teach something.
A true man's ego is not birthed out of wealth's womb, nor is his pompousness injected by the number of women beneath the sheets. These kind of men are facilely destructible. When men lose their hope in capturing the genuineness of feelings warmth, the façade becomes the last resort to sweep off the shattered pieces of dignity out of sight. They could buy women with hefty pockets but dearie me, do they even please them? My reticence or rather pompousness as it's apprehended comes in four seasons, making a untamable, unconquerable and adamantine man.
It was winter when water learned it could harden into ice under temperature's sovereign, that's when love reached the lowest levels in a boy's life. Without a container, a boy finds no shape to be sculpted in so he becomes irregular. Irregular shapes however, are hardly understandable with no mold to fit in, only abandonment could appreciate the cosmic creation of unpredictability.
That's when a boy becomes a guy.
It was spring when the saccharine flavour of mystique sentiment under the inculcation of women's thievery of heaven's scent touched his tongue. The unsustainable ambiguity gnawing at youthful rib cages about how lissome it must feel like when someone's pampered by women's affection. The murmurous inquisitiveness of being someone's provider, being the sun instead of showering in sun rays for a change. Acceptance knocking on your door to open it wide for reassurance to find a home where it belongs, or else what is the point?
That's when a guy becomes a man.
It was autumn when the leaves of hope fell in love with gravity, breaking hearts in the amatory demeanor they fell to the floor, abandoning devoted roots. Such a credulous maneuver, completely oblivious to death's begrudging heart. Bless her heart, she was ebulliently in love with nature's work that she became a leaf in life's book instead of being the whole anecdote. The title might have been devoted to her honor, but two hearts were buried into Earth's soul that day.
That's when a man becomes a monster.
When summer arrived, temperature reached its highest that hell had to pay its visits down to the human's playground. The guardians of time had to save the day and advice to have the patience for its judgement day. So, I befriended hell. As two known of their impatience, admiration sneaked in that hell found a sanctuary within my chest. Time stood to stare in conspicuous malevolence, finding its pause upon my skin. It's when my tongue grew its thorns of incorruptibility to ferocious extents, regaining sympathy only between a woman's thighs.
My hefty pockets were tailored with my own hands and that's when I realized if I know how to make them heavy, then it doesn't matter when they get lighter. However, they will never buy anyone pussy. They open their legs when they deem you worthy, so kneel, only if your knees can handle the floor. Make them cry, I dare you. You'd be astonished how tears of heavenly creatures can scald fiercer than hell's blaze. It's not the money, it's not the pussy. It's the respect you demand despite the absence of a heart, the sharpness of mind and toxic seasons swimming through hardly functioning veins.
