I’m the Fae they warned you about,
not glitter and wings but famine and drought.
I don’t drift in gentle, I kick doors down,
barefoot in ash with a blood-rusted crown.
They promised you beauty.
They forgot to mention brutal.
I love like a riot with a match in my mouth,
torch every bridge pointing north, east, south.
You reach for my hand, I bite it instead,
because tenderness feels like a trap in my head.
You love with a heart wide open, unarmored,
a battlefield saint, disciplined, armored.
You’re a force, a reckoning flame,
the kind of devotion that isn’t a game.
And I?
I am the wreckage before the war,
the splintered wood of a slammed damn door.
I push you away before you can stay,
tell you to fuck off then beg you to pray.
Not out loud.
Never out loud.
I act like I don’t care if you disappear,
but the thought of your absence rots me with fear.
So I ruin it first. I scorch the land.
If I burn it myself, at least it’s my hand.
You say I’m magic.
I say I’m corrosion.
You call it passion.
I call it explosion.
Because I know what I do when I spiral and snap,
how I twist devotion into a trap.
How I gut the garden before it turns green,
how I make something sacred feel filthy, obscene.
This world isn’t polished, it’s raw and unmade,
no gentle fairy tale, no soft serenade.
Just hunger and instinct and fear dressed as pride,
and me with the chaos I barely can hide.
You stand there steady, fierce as sin,
ready to love me skin to skin.
Ready to fight for us, tooth and shout,
while I scream “leave” just to test you out.
Because if you survive my sharp-edged doubt,
if you stay when I’m raging and lashing about,
if you don’t flinch when I’m feral and loud,
maybe I’m not just the curse in the crowd.
Maybe I’m terrified you’ll see
how badly I want you to stay with me.
I am thorn and wildfire and salt in the wound.
I am the howl at a cracked open moon.
I am “don’t touch me” and “don’t let go,”
a walking contradiction you somehow know.
I’m the Fae they warned you about,
the chaos, the scream, the venomous shout.
And loving me isn’t gentle or tame.
It’s standing in ruin.
It’s standing in flame.
It’s choosing the storm
and saying my name.