The Huntress {الصيّادة} Playbook

a huntress should ready her mind,
body
soul
open all the shakras
focus all the vibes and waves & energies of the universe
as she
sharpens her knives,
strings her bow,
and loads her shotgun
with a ‘neeya safya’
in preparation for the hunt
and where there is a will there is a way,
and that way is opening yourself to the unavoidable fact
that your ‘standards’ will not only be lowered
but diminished,
all those hard stone specifics
finished
that’s when you fix your gaze and
shhh
Observe
unbeknownst to your prey
study him in his habitat
his habits
Characteristics
Hopes
Dreams
Weaknesses
Know them
even better than he
that’s when you begin the dance
Start slow
Never bringing up your gaze
because
direct eye contact will make him skitter and run away
he cant handle intimidation like that
never, ever, ever let him feel like you are in any way better
With any degrees,
or job experience,
or business savyness,
or dry humour,
or intellectual thoughts that could’ve kept you both up for hours as you wondered at this life and its meaning but instead you gotta look all doe like, simpering
while holding
the sharpest of your knives behind your back
Waiting
And waiting
Because he’s a man
And you gotta remind him that he’s a man
Validate it
Lullaby him to that assurance
all the while shedding all your personality and traits,
your likes and dislikes shaped for his sake,
because Bruce Lee said you’re water
Pour her into glass
And she’s glass
Pour her into anything his mind desires
And she adapts
But never ever forgetting the fact of her hydrogen dioxide makeup
And when he feels secure,
his standards & all the qualities he’d ever dreamt of miraculously met
With absolute trust in his eyes revealing his neck
That’s when you with the sweetest finesse
Cock your shotgun straight at his chest
And your greatest achievement as a huntress, is in him,
your prey,
thinking it was he with his bare hands who shaped his fate
in making you his
But I lack all the skills
Was never initiated or bequeathed these weapons
Blame it on my upbringing and naive parents in instilling in me romantic notions of a supposed man that is simply just trying to be decent in a time when decency only lives in imagination, where he can admit to me that he’s only
a man,
a man who simply wants to grow, to better himself, myself and his surroundings & admit  his faults
as I do mine,
revealing our vulnerability, fragility, & the status of simply being human and just so,
so,
so,
Goddamn tired,
and call me foolish but I can only daydream of this supposed man politely leveling his head & saying;

‘I’d like to get to know; the sprinkle of shamat on the smooth sides of your face, your so called imperfections that I wish to trace, the loosening of your spine when I lay my hand to the small of your back, that lip biting grin when I catch you staring, the two burning spots on your cheeks when I know your ‘thinking’, that resigned state you reach coupled with that faraway look when contemplating, the small creases on your  forehead as you concentrate on reading,  that silent sense of content that we’ll make, the words that I’ll never have to speak, the goose bumps on your flesh when you hear me, the pleasure written on your face as that heady affect of my scent plays havoc in your head, those long fingered, nail bitten, sometimes clammy but always soft hands that calm as I rage, the patience… with me, yourself, mankind and that dazzling, limitless smile that you commit….  Allow me to introduce myself…’

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