If You Want Me, Match Me—But Not Like That

A tribute to the ones who tried.

They always think I’m asking for more.

More money, more achievements, more dominance, more edge.

But I’m not.

If you want me, match me—not in status, but in self-respect.

Not in power, but in purity of intention.

Not in control, but in capacity for rupture without collapse.

I don’t need your empire.

I need to see if you can withstand the heat of my presence without folding into envy, silence, or cruelty.

I need to know you can survive the storm inside your own body when it’s no longer about control, but about connection.

This is a tribute to the ones who almost did.

To the ones who felt the pull but mistook it for danger.

To the ones who glimpsed the gates of what we could build together—but flinched.

They weren’t weak. Not all of them.

Some were beautifully flawed men with incredible raw materials.

Hungry, intuitive, emotionally exact.

Some of them saw me. Not just the body.

But the brilliance. The fire. The standard.

And for a moment, they rose.

But then—

They disappeared when I stopped making myself small.

They froze when I stopped being digestible.

They chose pride over apology, numbness over effort, control over presence.

They were not punished for this. They were simply… left behind.

Because I do not wait in stillness.

I evolve.

The door will not be where you left it.

If you want me again, you’ll have to climb.

This isn’t ego. This is architecture.

I don’t want a man at the top. I want a man in motion.

I want to love someone I don’t have to explain basic respect to.

Someone who can meet me in madness, in silence, in strategy, in sex.

Someone who can co-build with me—not from fantasy, but from freedom.

So to my muses—past and paused:

You mattered.

I meant it.

You moved me.

But I’m not your oasis. I’m your mirror.

Become your own best self.

Then come find me.