I love the duality that resides so strongly within me.
I love the softness, the existence as high maintenance and sweet-smelling and filled with an utter desire to love. I adore, I swoon, I praise and kiss and embrace and it feels like holy communion when I am trusted. I want to see others, see their pain, and do everything in my power to draw it away from them while they lay enveloped in my fragrant presence, a bed of petals and honeyed milk and expensive stones. I relish in the straying gentleness of my touch, the long-fingered dancing along prickling flesh and the warmth of my sensual, generous body. I am too sweet, too pretty, too delicious.
I also love the ferocity that moves me through life like a dog of war. I often think of the lyric "throw yourself into the unknown with a pace and fury defiant" and feel that this is a part of me I will never lose, never set free, because how could I? My ability to be strong, to know my purpose, to take the blows... is that not, also, a form of love? To be bloodied and beaten only to be drawn back, victorious, into the arms of the one I am sworn to protect? The metal-smoke tang of blood, the heaving chest of a fight still raging, the tug of the leash. It calls me. The wolf calls me. The ever present soldier, the sacrifice, the shining edge of the moon through branches like witch fingers calls me.
I am both. The comfort and the crying. The angel and the devil. The pearl string threatened by the blade and the blade itself. I am frosting and I am filth.
And I am obsessed with that.
