Wednesday, August 25, 2010

girly love

Love is impatient. Love is unkind.
Love is a poison that weakens the mind

“No balls, that’s what it is!”, they snickered. They called him an indulgent lapdog. They mocked him and said that he was kept. They said he was a sissy and that he was bullied by her. They whispered behind his back and called him hen-pecked to his face. He couldn’t care less. When they felt threatened by her they told him that his bitch was out of control. They laughed at him for being indulgent and scoffed at him for not "keeping her in her place". They said he was foolish for trusting her. A wimp, her obeisant servant, her keep, her toy. Oh, what did they know? They ridiculed what they couldn’t have or understand. They questioned his manhood because he respected her and unlike them, didn’t keep his woman in a cage. He knew better. Insecurity was the eunuch's disease. Not his.


He loved her. A demented sort of affection. Everyday his soul grew more gnarled and twisted with his love. It spilled into his breakfast cereal and burnt his dinners. It filled his soul with the smell of roses and touched him with the sweetness of a child's laughter. It began and ended with the simple wish of wanting to be a part of her life. To him, she was the possibility of knowing how much a man he could be. Any guy could take a woman, but she would only keep a real man. It kept him real. She kept him alive in ways he dared not count or scrutinize. It was his touchstone. It made him wretched with desire and yet, blessed. He could not keep his mind off her. No, that wasn't necessarily true. He very well could keep his mind off her. But he'd rather not. What was a couple of missed deadlines and jumped stop signals next to a thought to return to? It kept him focused and it distracted him. It kept him company during long journeys. It kept him going. It was his grace. He remembered his dreams with her. It made him smile. It gave him strength. It gave him something to look forward to. It was worthwhile. It kept him in good humour. It kept him happy.


She loved him. An almost-complete, feral sort of affection. She could count the number of ways she loved him on her fingers and her toes. And then she would smile smugly to herself. Every day was alive with possibilities, ideas; buzzing with the potential being complete offered. He made counting her blessings a rather delightful exercise and she smiled rather smugly (again) after taking inventory. It made her smile smugly many times a day. She believed she’d earned it and she’d make the person who tried to ruin this for her very sorry. “Don’t you lie to me, or you’ll be sorry.” A contract of trust. Both undersigned. She was his equal. His other half. Soul mates. Partners. Better-worse. Patience-expectation. Anger-forgiveness. Love-love. It was her precarious balance. The closest she had come to prayer. It was her risk. It was her saving grace. It made her ridiculous. It kept her coming back. It set her free. It kept her grounded. It was good. It was bad. It was wicked. It was perverse. It was pure. It was foolish. It was absolute genius. It was wonderful. It was mundane. It was magical. It was the pits. It kept her sane. It kept her sweet.

Love is jealous. Love is a lousy bum.
Love is love and that’s fucking awesome!

Eve would have envied her. She knew that much. They hated her guts. The philistines. They called her vamp. Short for vampire. Shrewd, sexy, dangerous. Unattainable. Out of your league. So they came to drive a stake through her heart. Chop off her head and fill the mouth with garlic. They came with their holier-than-thou protests. "Witch. Witch. Bitch. Burn her at the stake." They grudged her his love. They grudged her his trust. They ridiculed him for standing by her. He did, as he always would. Yes, Eve would have envied her. Eve offered Adam the apple with hopes of him finding his manhood. Instead it lodged somewhere in his throat. Adam's apple. The legacy of denial, bequeathed to his kind; God's condemnation and damnation for not standing by woman. They shall know that you've not done right by your woman. So much for balls!


roocumuses said...

Was blog-surfing and chanced upon yours. Looks to me like you belong to 'the race that knows Joseph'.

MissAnnThrope said...

i certainly hope so... :D

Meety said...

As usual.. loved it!!

MissAnnThrope said...

thank you meety