Thoughts

Song of the day

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I went looking for a song for the day, but nothing quite struck the right chord. I’m hopeful but tentative. I’m sure of my heart and desires but unsure about how those are perceived. I want to ask questions but am fearful of what those answers may be. I also was looking for something to uplift a give hope. I also think I’m seeing something but I’ve been wrong before and I don’t want to be wrong about this.

I almost picked Bastille – Flaws, because it speaks to our flaws but it also says that there is a hole in my soul, so close but not right. Maybe you have the right song? Tell me what song you like for the day.

Something happening

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Did you ever get the feeling that you made a mistake? That you said something or did something that you did not see the consequence for? That it felt like the other shoe had dropped and you didn’t know why? I’m getting that feeling now. I wish I knew what had happened, wish I knew what I’d said, or done. Or what someone said that I have done or said. It’s the OR I find more likely. I can’t think of anything I’ve said or done that warrants what seems to be coming. Maybe I didn’t do something, that seems pretty likely. I’m notoriously bad at reading signals.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Talking to people

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Talking to people on without the benefit of face to face contact is difficult for me. Not while. As long as there is back and forth, that’s fine. Not while, after. After, I feel a profound sense of loss or disconnect. Because I want to talk more about the conversation. I want a few more minutes of human connection and, because of how I experience things, an intense desire to hold and be held. To lock the memory into my mind. To celebrate a few minutes of intellectual contact with an hour or two of physical contact. I suppose it’s all a part of what I miss. That desire never goes away. Is never sated. It just shows itself in stark relief against the background of nonphysical relationships. I almost wish the purely nonphysical intellectual and emotional relationships I do have, were enough. That I didn’t need or could suppress the need for the physical. But then, that would hardly be true to myself.

Relationship Games

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I suppose it comes down to this. I am willing to play games, to see if a relationship with you will be worth it, but at the end of about a month I’m done and I want to know what we are doing. I’m ok with fun times and casual whatever. But I want to know that is what we are. And I will keep looking if that is all that you want. But the games stop. And if you decide that you just want to be good friends, brace yourself for a bit of culture shock.  I don’t treat my friends, even my good friends, the way that I treat lovers and potential lovers. Not that I treat them badly, but they get less of me.  Less of my time, less of my attention, just less. I’m perfectly willing to be friends with ex’s but I find that they don’t want that, not really.  When they say they want friendship, they mean they want the same level of access as I give lovers, but without actually being with me.  I don’t do that. It is unfair to the people who are with me. And before you think I am cheating on anyone, no,  I don’t do that.  I am not exclusive with anyone, their choice.  I prefer inclusive polyamory. But I can do exclusive, just no one ever asks for that with me.  Perhaps I should be a bit offended, or not, who can say?