Brief contemplation on the confluence of art and life

It’s hard to keep writing when the song in your heart is silent. When its constant mutters and chatter bleed off into silence so quietly that you jerk awake, lulled by the absence for those brief moments indulging in that quiet that never seems to stay. Until you see that the chatter has gone. And you are left with the quiet.

It’s no secret that I use my pain and bouts of depression to fuel my art. And there is no doubt that it has led to a well fed blood forest.

It’s weird. The quiet was the moments when I would create in. Maybe I need to reassess. And know that this is not quiet. Instead it’s the steady white noise, too busy to stop and think. Too busy to experience and grow. Far too busy. But what must that mean?

And can I get back to that without sacrificing what I’ve gained. I don’t know. I have this need to now commit to trying but that feels like the first step to failure. So instead I’ll commit to a small change. And perhaps that change will lead to another.

Colors the mind sees, the eyes cannot

Days pass
Distance from the gravitic impression
Left by the indelible memories
Of holding you, your head on my shoulder
My head on yours
Smelling you under shampoo
Kisses to the top of your head
Clasping hand and kisses to palm
Memories burn like the sentinels of Gondor
Calling out
This distance between then and then
Making it harder to think
To breathe

Your anger
Your fury
Pointed as a sword to the sky
A call to arms
And I slip further into the chasm

Your blush
Your laugh
That impish smile
Brat tongue daring me to act
Fraying my control

And still
So close to frenzy
I wait
Storing those ideas
Those thoughts
Behind doors of stone
Waiting for the moment
When all will be
And like a never quenched torrent
Suffuse you
Wake and be mine
If only for a moment

Am I high maintenance?

I am tough to be in a romantic relationship with, I think. If I know where I stand, have affection from my partner, and we have communication every day then I’m OK. Probably even good. On some days great.

But if I don’t know where I stand, then I’m always seeking information to get to that information. Which means weird questions and anxiety.

If we don’t communicate every day for more than a single exchange, I begin to accrue anxiety and eventually spiral into a full blown spinout and possible depression.

Cold language or cold treatment can seem to be lack of affection. And it almost always means there is a problem. Maybe not with the relationship but with life or whatever.
This leads me to believe that I am not trusted. And cue eventual anxiety and depression.

I feel like this makes me high maintenance. Or be perceived as high maintenance.

Anxiety and depression reactions are not ideal consequences but they are things that can be alleviated by my partner just being there. In that state I don’t need solutions, I just need presence.

Those things seem like things things anyone would want?
Am I asking for too much?
Those seem like normal things to want.

Those that see

That which is dream is more than dream
That which is hope is more than hope
These words are the only touch I have
And the passing time begins to break me

Those that are loved are more than loved
Those that are seen are never hidden
These thoughts keep me seeking
And the thought that I’m missing something begins to break me

Those that speak are more than words
Those that desire are more than hoped
These thoughts physically hurt me
And the pain of speaking is only exceeded by the endless silence

Out the other side

There is something either cleansing or fucking scary about coming out of a depression so deep that moving itself is a act of will. Afterwards, I feel almost normal which I never really feel for any length of time. And that’s scary. Because I remember this feeling. It’s the same as what I felt when my emotions were locked down. The pure sense of seeing out from a cell constructed of my mind. Safe but trapped.

The other side is I feel scoured clean. Like all pain has been cleared away. Though it hasn’t and the loss of that numbness makes way for the pain of being alone. There is someone, of course, but we haven’t spent much time together due to scheduling lately. And I need that contact to maintain equilibrium.

I can maintain when I am on my own, but if I get used to having someone to share spinning plate duty with, then they are unavailable, the spin starts to falter.

And, for me, nothing calms me, keeps me centered like touch. Just a hand on my back is enough. Though more is always welcome.

And, for reasons I won’t go into, for privacy reasons, we touch very little. Also a problem for me.

It doesn’t feed my depression, but it doesn’t help it.

So I guess this is less about depression and more about my needs not being completely met. Not that I didn’t know that they wouldn’t be, but that I, foolishly perhaps, thought that I was better equipped to weather the storm.

Thoughts on reciprocity and love

There is nothing I desire more than to have the love I am, the love I send out be returned to me by those I love. I suppose that’s where my failure lays. That I need that love to be returned to me.

It’s counter intuitive. When we love, we want, we desire, that love to be returned to us. But that is placing a boundary on love. It is saying that I will only love if I gain from doing so. And that is not love. That is calculation, that is want.

Or perhaps I am painting myself as someone to be held to a different standard because there are none who return my love. And it is easier to say that that is a fault of humanity instead of my fault. That those my heart love are always the ones least likely to love me back.

Or maybe the truth, TRUTH, lays somewhere in between. Maybe I need to be a bit more forgiving of my own needs, my own desires.

Or maybe I just need someone to hold me and tell me it will be OK.

Perhaps I should accept the fragility of my heart and just accept that as long as I am honest in my love, as long as those I love know that They Are Loved, I have done all that I can.

Thoughts on writing about kink

Any time I post something pertaining to kink, I tend to get more kink followers.  And I read their words and I am reminded that I want that too.  Not just the romantic or sensual things but the Dominance and Submissive dance, the pain and pleasure.  I want it both.  The emotional side and the Switch(master predominant) side.  I don’t want to have to choose.  I know that I will, if I must.  But I would rather both.  The reminder is like a building fire with no outlet.  It can make me reckless. Maybe this is a TMI situation, but I’ve never been accused of shying away from brutal self discovery. 

Emotional shotgun – In love edition

I want more time, more words, more connection, more touches, more teeth, more nails, more kisses, more sex, more sharing, more, more, more.

It makes me seem greedy or needy. It makes me seem mad. It makes me seem unreasonable. I seem, seem, seem.

What I’m really asking is will you stay? Are you mine? Am I yours? I’m here for the distance but my insecurities drive people away. I’m looking for yes. I’m looking for, of course. I know it is needy and I hate feeling this way. I hate needing that reassurance. I’m so used to standing alone but I crave to stand together. With you it feels so present, so now and I can’t seem to be, just be without a word, just a word. And I hate asking and I hate being this mess. I want to be a pillar of strength at your side. But I need that reassurance not because it’s new but because I don’t take it for granted. And that’s odd and that’s weird. But it’s me. And I’m spinning out not from depression but from stress. I want to make it all better but I don’t have the tools or the words and I keep fumbling about looking for the right words and I just want to hold you and not need to say anything

My night out

That moment of hope between waking and dream
just that moment before it’s all that it seems
just the seconds that pass in heavy silence
just the times when on the tip of my tongue I’ve not said
I want you on the tip of my tongue
just these moments we let flow by
whether from desire or its lack
just this not quite fear
not enough to make me act
and the desire to say yes, mistress/yes, master
take me
use me as you desire
and in the morning make me coffee
and kiss
but this slow silence where it’s all ponderous dream
and the next round
the next dream
the next chance?
It’s on me.