Embrace me as a flower growing by starlight

Soft petals turned razor sharp
Soft sadness at wounds too small to ever heal
Scarred by healing
Marks littering my body
Closed and hiding in daylight
A thing of thorns and pain

I grow full by starlight
Cloaked in the night
Scars hidden and covered
By the frozen expanse
Blooms shiver in the this never-ending
While I awake anew

We share a world but we’re not in the same one
Mine has dangers sharp as blades
Lies as comfortable as clouds
Truths as broken as glass

Plant yourself close
I will grow
And protect you shelter you

the broken rose of the winter night
A field of unknown stars
An ocean of pain and beauty
Beneath a frozen moon

Just another rant about words

The delineation between loving someone versus being in love with someone is bullshit.
What you actually mean is that you don’t hold romantic and/or sexual feelings for a person.
And pretending that “in love” is some kind of permanent state is a harmful practice. It negates most relationships. Causes grief and pain and destroys families.
“In love” should be used to mean that not only are you romantically linked, but also that you will do the real work of maintaining and building your relationship(s) so that the state of “in love” can be achieved.

This desperate seeking for a “spark” is ridiculous. Sparks are fleeting and while they can kindle a flame, it is but one way in which a fire is created.

People are all looking for a thunderbolt but a fire built from steady constant work will burn just as hot and instead of that instant destruction, can build.

And some of us are nuclear fires born of stars, we need other stars to be happy. But really, any person who hasn’t hardened their heart, can become a star.
To build and build lasting and out lasting a mortal span.

I suppose I’m just tired of the limits people place on their hearts. I understand caution. Hells, I understand a sharp blade at the right time. But still, we could be less foolish with our phrasing. Words build us. Give us a framework to assault reality.

And yes, if someone advances on you unwanted, well then remember that sharp knife I mentioned?

Calm wistful mornings

Drop sand distant to a tune made melody
Pounding counterpoint to soft gasps
Quiet bitten lip moans
Being quiet for too thin walls
Open to the endeavors of pain
Break wave and skin taught
Beads of sweat
Cold in the rooms still air
Eyes meet
Even in passions throws
Small towel and soft cover
Cutting out cold
Taking fierce care while being taken
Into ear the growl of
“Mine”
And thus I’m lost again

In dreams we reach across the diatance

No trick of the light
To have a heart full of stars
Grown in reflection to your love

Sweet dreams
Leave the taste of you on waking
Tongue ache in remembrance

Hands pressed to lips
Savoring a memory of yet to be
Painful dreaming

Waking in I love you
Mind flying the miles
Yearn

A promise to keep you
Safe within my arms
As safe as you desire

Pepper on the tongue

Love is layered
One act
One word
Built day by day
Until the inevitable bloom of forever

Love is layered
One act
One word
Hurts day by day
Until the inevitable decay of forever

Love is choice
Conscious actions
Made with care and deliberation

What we feel may be immutable
But feelings are not love
They are but a single layer

It is in the accumulation
In the choice
Where truth lives
……….

And I write of love because we are so distant now
Steeped in love
In desire
In hope
But so far away
It’s a pain that grows
Briefly assuaged by words on the screen
Empty beds
And the need which gnaws at the
Root

Drift heavy under lidded eyes

I no longer yearn for a past I can never have. For a life given up, no matter how much my semi-worrying off hand comments may make it seem otherwise. I want things now just out of my reach. Things in my life and in my future. Which sometimes seem so far away. However, I know that they are not. Nevertheless, I can’t keep from straining forward. As if attempting to reach that last inch to that last leaf, so far above my head.

It is still good to acknowledge though. That that darkness in me will never flee, though now they are merely half serious jokes. That I once loved deeply. That I again love deeply. That what was will never be again. And that’s ok. What is, is much better than an ephemeral dream. No matter how beautiful.

The portrayal of BDSM is broken

Why is BDSM presented as a thing of violence?
I don’t understand that. It has never been my experience that I felt violent. I’ve felt control. Like a violin string stretched taught and vibrating with tension. But it’s a tension not waiting for violence, but for action. Yes, sometimes that action is one of force. Of the infliction of pain. But never against the desire of my partner. My treasure. My submissive.

Submission is an act of trust and love. Dominance is an act of trust and love. That it presents as violence is gross misrepresentation. The feeling I have when my submissive says Yes Sir. Or just uses my name, if in public. That feeling has nothing to do with violence. Yes, it’s ownership. But they own me equally. They give me their submission. A greater gift cannot be made. I give them my control and bend my every action to make them safe and joyous. Whatever form that joy and desire takes.

BDSM is NOT violence. If it ever is, then it is abuse.

I cannot emphasize that enough. It makes me feel sick to think that people are hurting others in the guise of BDSM. Even when it’s just play and not lifestyle, it is still based on trust and pleasure and consent.

It drives me crazy.