Month: December 2016

Emotional shotgun: feeling lonely during the holidays edition

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I have dreamed a thousand lives and in each you are there. I’ve kissed you a thousand ways. Made love to you with word and skin. Fucked like beasts. Commanded and caressed. But in each, you will not stay. All I have learned, all the pleasures, the highs and the lows, all my knowledge I bring and still you walk away. I bare my soul and jump with my heart wide open, and still you walk away. And so I wake, because why live in the dreaming if I cannot be with you. I wake and try to find a way to another.

But I cannot get away from us. Why are you still single? Always that question. Always the answer, “That’s complicated.” Hoping they let it go, hoping to allow you to know me better before most of my secrets come spilling out.

I suppose I could lie. That’s the logical thing to do. But I can’t betray your memory. I won’t lie. So they hear a tale of sadness and pain and depression and that’s no way to get a second or third date. Yes, date.

Netflix and chill is bullshit. Even if we get to the point where sex is involved, I’m going to refer to those nights as the nights we fuck. Or better, as scene’s. Give me some emotional connection or give me a paddle in my hand. Preferably both.

A proper date. With dancing, with music, with conversation.

Fuck! You can see how bad I am. I’m all over the place even just writing about looking for a relationship.

Just shortcut it. If you like me, read me, and call me SIR and mean it. We’ll get there. Roll the dice. Make a move. My caution comes from a good place, it’s not lack of assertiveness.

Or ask me to text you, apparently I’ll ramble on and on.

My version of a panic attack

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My heart beats faster and the pain comes pouring out. The desire to end and the frantic need to be held and loved and told it will be all right. It’s my version of the more traditional panic attack. This shift to sudden sadness. And I need to isolate myself because I can feel the tears, the sobs coming and I can’t explain it without explaining everything I shouldn’t. All the secrets, all the truths that wait in the darkness, waiting to grab hold and twist their way out of me. That’s what it feels like. And I know that voice lies but it feels like truth. I feel so alone as my heart slams and the blood pulses. Just a touch from my love and it’ll quiet, but there’s been no one to do that in years. I’m just a broken doll. Discarded, discovered, then cast aside again for something better. There’s just this stretching of days and this nothing, this nothing, this nothing. Not enough to be loved, not enough for anyone. All chances fled. All hope denied. Not even sleep is a refuge when you remember your dreams.

Broken heart

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You want me but not me.
Me who’s better looking.
Me who’s more successful.
Rich me. Popular me. Fantasy me.
You want the poet but don’t want the pain. You want the torrent of desire but don’t want the flame.
You’ll warm yourself by my heartfire but won’t open your own.
I’m just a bandaid, a temporary distraction from your life.
And you tell yourself, he’ll be happy for the attention, that it’s all just a game.
But I’m falling in love, because my heart can’t learn this lesson, won’t do it, refuses to see.
Not all words are true, not the way you say them, that these words they speak without connecting to their heart.
And my heart only hears theirs beating and makes a castle of hope.

Stream of consciousness – BDSM edition

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When you say, “Sir”, it sends a frission through me. It ignites me like treated wood, builds burn to bright. My possession of you leads to possibilities of public and private. A touch to remind, a choker to mind, a corset to bind, harsh hemp rope making you mine. We are everyday. We are happy. You spark and burn when shocked and bled. My beautiful girl. Mine, mine mine, growl pours from lips to teeth biting clit. My need for you, my joy for you, each touch and sentence spoken, binding us closer. Commands become the choice of happiness and we move in tandem. You to hurt me as I command. My pain is pleasure and you are never denied. Passion pours from us in simple touch, the light in our eyes making truth where others see betrayal. We are blood and hope and fit together. The only thing improper is desire left to rot. But you hop and smile and say Sir. An exploration of boundaries, of each desire taken to the bleeding edge. Our comfort in the choices of each other. Of each other.

Finding minutes

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The cold seeps in
Tearing me open
A thousand words unsaid
Leaving flechette blooms

Heat rises
Blood flows freely
A thousand acts taken
Leaving indelible marks

Heart beats
Lips caress skin
A thousand choices
Leading me to you

This past year

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Anyone who has been with me, reading this blog, knows that I fall in love and I fall in love and I fall in love. And you may wonder, is my heart so fickle that it falls in love so often? Or am I unable to commit and so flit from love to love?

The answer is neither of those things. My feeling is that we choose to shut ourselves off. We choose to love stingyly. Because it hurts. Because pain is so hard to take when the relationship ends. We convince ourselves that because it did not last, it must not have been love.

We do ourselves a disservice. Love is not so fickle. In our aversion to pain, we choose to allow our hearts to fade.

I did this for a long time. For 6 years. And you may not think that is that long. But to me, it was a prison I didn’t know how to get out of. I had to be pulled out of it.

That relationship failed, but it woke me up. I began to see again. And what I chose, ultimately it is a choice, what I chose is love. To not reject love. To not seek it, but to allow it.

So, in the natural course of being a poet, of seeing into people, of seeing who they are. In the moment. I see their unique beauty. Even if we are just words. Even if we never meet.

We are still hearts and minds and desires. And allowing ourselves to be honest with each other and ourselves, we allow for love. We give ourselves permission to fall in love. To jump from the precipice and fall. Exhilaration and pain, always hoping that there is no bottom. That you fall as well and we choose to love with fierceness.

To love each day. To not let love flair then fade, the flames must be fed. Sharing ourselves. Sharing everything. And each new piece is beautiful. Each new piece reminds me of why I jumped and why many people are worth the fall.

Love gloriously, love thoroughly, love without end. Because they don’t. My heart is not fickle. Those I love, I love forever. I hold that love forever. Love is not a finite resource. It is infinite. Relationships fail for any number of reasons, but love fails only when we allow it to. When we get distracted by the noise and the comfort of saying that the relationship failed because it wasn’t love. The lie we tell ourselves. Because if it was love, then the relationship failed because of us. And then you are forced to examine why and who you are. Always the hardest part.

So. My love is not fickle. It is a fire that rages, a sky in storm, an ocean in depth. It is eternal. I won’t hold myself to a lesser standard. But, you. You I will forgive, because I love you.

I woke

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Feeling the blood pound through my veins
Thinking only of you
My passion and my pains
This current pulls me to you
You feed the fires of my desires
But we are not a thing of the moment
We are bound by so much more 
Love calls us, passion builds us, respect guides us

I will not fail us. 

I will fight for you. 

Song for the Day

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This is a classical piece that floors me. Beautiful and inspired.

Horse dream

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I was visiting a stable. My friend L was running it. A lifelong dream of hers and another of my friends, A, was her vet. One of horses was old and sick. It was in constant pain. It was 5 foot 6 at the shoulder, mottled black and brown coloring with a white lopsided star shape on its head. The vet had provided a drug cocktail to allow the animal to pass in peace, free from pain and lucid. But L couldn’t do it. She left the horse barn in tears. I was there with another friend of mine. We were observers only. I was about to go after L when I woke up to a heart racing panic attack. Great… My dreams are giving me panic attacks.

Making too much of this?

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If I say something complimentary, I’m not being sweet or nice. I’m being honest.

If I do something, usually I expect nothing in return unless it is part of a exchange. Again, that isn’t me being nice or sweet. That is me acting as my internal honor and rules dictate.

I can be generous and kind to those I care for, but nice or sweet? That’s not me. Am I wrong? Is that what society sees as sweet or nice?

Ask anyone who knows me, nice and sweet are not words they would use to describe me. It may seem I am making too much of this. But I won’t be dishonest. Even by allowing a misconception.

Again, that’s not me being nice either. That is me adhering to my honor code.