Forceful

Andrea Bruschi - Chapter 4

There's this poem, it goes a little like this:

"They say I am fussy: with lovers, with books, with music. I tell them that I would rather freeze than be lukewarm. I tell them that if it doesn't set me on fire, then no thank you, I don't want it. It's taken me years to confess that I would rather be alone than settle. The truth is, I cannot stand the taste of in-betweens. Half-measures will never be a part of me and contentment will never be my currency. If it cannot fill me up to the brim, I don't see the point of it. I want all or nothing, and I'm okay with it. And they say "Girl, how do you think a wildfire starts? From a spark. Relationships need kindling." And I cannot make them understand that I am not afraid to build on things, to work hard and relentlessly on something, but I must stop apologizing for the fact that, truth be told, I cannot seem to want a love that does not engulf me. Someone once told me that once you've tasted fire, you crave it, no matter how badly it burned your tongue. They weren't wrong. Maybe Icarus knew what he was doing all along."

I've heard and seen many poems, but for reasons beyond my understanding, I resonated with this so much.

I am what you call a procrastinator, I dwindle, I do numerous things halfway and leave them incomplete when they don't fulfill me. Maybe it's just the instant gratification mindset of my generation or something entirely different.

Either way, I don't care about it if can't ignite me.

I love labels and certainty, I want to know firsthand what happened and how it went down, I want the experience, the memory, all of it. I want to soak up every particle and breath of an event. I want to commit it in a cage in my mind, and never let it free.

I want.

'Maybe Icarus knew what he was doing all along'

I love that last line, it brings chills to my spine. I love to think that the well known arrogant Icarus flew into the sun for his own brand of pleasure, despite the fact he knew he wouldn't be able to revel in it for long. He could have a taste but no more than that.

I want a taste and then some. I want a meal, a feast, a whole fucking banquet for me and another to share. I sure do want to share, with someone specific and special.

Oh Goddesses, mighty and ever powerful, please let me be one of the few who get granted a life of love and obsession that's overflowing with unbridled and raw passion. I want someone to own my soul and I theirs. And whenever we feel like it, we tug and pull for our very own brand of pleasure.

Oh vengeful and gorgeous Dea and Selene, please use me as you see fit if it means I'll be gifted the fixation and craze of another. I know that love is out there, I've heard of it, in books and in the lives of others and I want it for myself. If that love is out there, you are as well. There is no love without the original of yours. You birthed love and her entire posse and allowed us to have some. Some more than others.

I want to know how it feels so bad. I want the ache and pull of love truest of all and be unable to describe it in words. I want silence so dense and thick that it drowns me from the inside out, and I know you can provide that.

You exist, you whisper, you breathe in the very air you created and live amongst bodies you've also created. Dea, goddess of our ground and Selene the goddess of our milky bright moon, you create and you destroy and I love you.

No human could ever understand the love and affection I have for the two of you. You do whatever you so wish, no matter if minuscule creatures like us witches like it or not. You are so in control of everything, that it makes me envy your connection

I envy you, and I want you and I love you.

I want that same control and love. I want power, love and success, no matter who says it's not possible. I want what you have, and mark my words, no matter how much I love you both, your power will be mine and I will use it to do everything I want, and then some.

'I am the sovereign, I am the flame. Keeper of silence, master of chaos, It is I. I belong to no one but myself, but the affection of a tender woman haunts me. You force my hand, open up my forgotten heart with your empty words and whispers. Aphrodite and Cupid hath cursed you, but why have they cursed me too? Perhaps it was never a curse in the first place, Perhaps it was a gift. A gift of obsession, of longing. Regardless, I accept this gift with open arms."

credits to srwpoetry for the poem 'Maybe That Boy Just Wanted a Taste of the Sun'