Break the world

Love is an emergence
Not a fall
A discovery of heart and connection
A wiping away of the scales
The pretense of separation to see the whole
Love is a tapestry woven complete
Without interruption
Not touching all souls but touching many
The faint echos and plucked chord melodies
Love emerges from silence
From noise
Demands to be known
And though pain may follow close on its heals
The truth is
All revelation has a price
And just as a cost is paid
May a lesson be learned

Hangs heavy the heart

This is the 13th anniversary of Morgan’s death.
I’m reliving those minutes. Those mistakes. In full acceptance. I failed her in a way that I won’t fail again. So I seem like I’m cautious. Making sure we are on the same page. Reiterating thoughts to garner agreement and clarification. A friend of mine said that’s just what a Sir does. Perhaps she’s right. But I think that I must admit that this more than anything is what shaped me. Not just her death. Her murder. But also her life. Her love.

Because of her, I have bedrock proof that love is real. I know that relationships are hard. That letting things go causes damage. That failing to fight for your desires is a mistake. I know that losing someone never goes away. That you don’t heal. Instead you grow around the pain. Grow beyond it. And so appear sound. But the wound is always there.

I thought when I came out of the depression. The bleakness. When I could again feel. I thought that I was healthy. But those were first steps. And really, I won’t ever be whole. No one is. Being whole is being stagnant. Unchanging.

It’s not that I’m hopeful. It’s that I don’t want to fail to live in the love that she showed me was real. How could I dishonor her by failing to see the people around me, See their beauty, Foster their light and darkness?

I take this time. This day. To remember her.
To lament all that was lost.
To realize all that I’ve become.
From this frozen moment, I’d erase if I could.
This bloody seed crystal of the man I am.
Of the person I become tomorrow

Nightmares are also dreams part 9

I slap the belt down. The clap of leather to flesh and the soft reverberation through the room of Sara biting back a scream, wipes away the solace of sex in the morning.

I lay the belt on the side table where Sara can see it. The tiny pinprick barbs glisten with blood. Fresh juice for beginning.

I walk over to the play linen closet and pick out the white leather bed cover.

“Sara,” I say, “Get up and replace the sheets with the leather cover. For every drop of blood on our sheets, you will get a punishment.”

Sara looks like she wants to argue. Probably because there is already blood from earlier. But that just illustrates the point of this demonstration. She wants to be subjugated but wants it all her way too. She knows that’s not going to work.

Still, she says, “Yes, Sir.” And starts changing the sheets.

I pull out the blindfold, leg and wrist shackles from the play drawer. And stand back to watch the drama as she tries not to get blood on the sheets and fails.
This is hard for me. To sit back and watch her nude and carrying out orders. She flashes me each time she bends, entirety unintentional. And each time I fight to stop myself from pushing her down and taking her.

The feel of her splayed beneath me. Fighting for breathe, taking her, seeing her fight, then gasping for air.

But, not yet. For now, she is spread out, putting the last corner in place.

When I’m sure it’s solid, I grab her ankle and pull her scrambling to the foot of the bed.

“Shackle each leg. Then hook the shackle to its post.”

The first goes on easy but the second is harder and she strains to get her leg to the post hook.

After straining and stretching, throwing her leg to the post, and spread painfully wide, she looks up at me.
Triumphant.

Face blank, I bring my hand up and give her a little golf clap.

“Congratulations, little Slut. You can spread your legs.”

Her face indignant, I lean over and slap her cheek.
“I’m going to make you wish you never said yes to me, you little whore.”

I grab her wrist and drag her so that she’s pulled taught to the edge of the bed. Then shackle her wrist and chain each to their posts.

She’s spread eagle and spots of blood dot the leather. Her green eyes look up at me, filled with need.
I pull out the peeled ginger root I’d been concealing.

Her eyes go wide and she whimpers, “Please, no…”
I feel myself tighten at her fear and lean over her, “What will you do for me if I don’t”

“Anything, anything, ” she pleads.

“Anything…,”I ask.

“Yes, yes, please… please… anything.”

“Well…,” I say, “If it’s anything, then what I want is your pain.”

She bites her lip and nods, clearly thinking she’s getting some other kind of pain.
But no.

I lean down and feel the sloppy wet of her pussy. I push the ginger root in. It’s shape pressing against her lips. The bulb root end is pierced with a brace so that I can’t slip inside all the way.

“There. All good. Happy that you could please me?,” I ask.

The sharp gasps of “Yes, sir.” As the burning begins.

“Good, my little Slut. Now, you don’t need to see what’s happening anymore, tied up like you are.”

I strap the blindfold on. Consigning her to sound and pain. For now.

I need to check on Tara.

Silly tears

I hate feeling sad about things I can’t change. It seems a waste of pain to spend it wondering on what could have been. To spend precious time wallowing and crying. Yet, some nights my mind wanders to those who were but never was. Who said yes, but never touched. It’s impossible to know what could have been and yet my heart dwells on what was in the futile hope of discerning meaning. And in discerning meaning perhaps find a way back there. It’s a foolish heart I have. To hold onto love after the storm of it is past. But perhaps being this foolish person is just who I am. Perhaps, I have never learned to go lightly, and perhaps that’s ok. But it still hurts. I remember them. I remember what I felt. And what I still feel. Me and my foolish heart.

Questions strike deep

I had a whole thing
A thing about truth and honor
But it occurs that
What others see as
Honor and truth are not what
I see

In my heart, as long as I’m honest, I’m truthful
In my heart
as long as I keep my word,
As long as I protect my people,
As long as I adhere to my rules,
I am honorable

There is no outside structure that imposes order on my heart
Only my self
Maybe that’s not what you thought
But it is what I am

Slips the day

Waking up regretting the decision
Mind churning for what it doesn’t have
Reliving past mistakes as a movie reel
Procrastinating
Drawing out the time before getting out of bed
Cool air conditioned fan sped wind
Warm blankets
Dreading the day

Flipping up out of bed
Padding into the bathroom
Shower almost hot enough to burn
Water off reminded of the difference between winter and this artificial cool
The difference between dreading that forgot to turn off the fan and reveling in it

Sitting on bed
Combing out hair
Losing time to jotting down just a few words
Feel of cloth on skin
Smooth and welcoming
Dry and warm
Button up dress shirt
Scuffed shoes needing a shine
Heart heavy remembering waking up to a text from you
Nothing today, yesterday
Tomorrow?
Diet coke in a metal tumbler
An extra for later

Brief war with self
Music, too heavy with emotion, no time now to rage, scream or cry
Audiobook, lose self in another’s fantasy problems
Truck idling rough
Engine problem? Simple or expensive
Or just old

Driving in
Core self falling away
Sharper edges press forward
Compartmentalization
Existential pain hides beyond alleyways of doors
Emerge darker
Deadlier
Without care
Come against me now
Know painful failure

Work
People I love being ground away
Office drama
Bad people rising to the level of their incompetence
Bad leaders
All a slow burn

Done

Dreading going home
Going home means empty
Means that this powerful version of self slips
Piece by piece
But my cat is waiting
At least she loves me

Because they love you

Because they love you does not grant you the right to be a dick
You don’t get to lie about the things in your head that may come bursting out at inopportune times
You don’t get to foist your debts and obligations onto them

Because they love you is not a reason to take their presence for granted
You do not get to be silent while they howl for understanding
You do not get to be chit chat normal while their eyes beg for solutions

Because they love you is not a reason to take your pleasures without giving back theirs. (consent being given)
You do not get to eat their meals, prepped and prepared with loving hands, while you make them pay for your insecurities
You do not get to make love to them while holding back all the things they need to feel whole

Because they love you is no reason to take and take.
To threaten your own dissolution if they leave you
To threaten to leave when they are trying to make it work

Because they love you
They love you
And your repayment of that love is pain
And uncertainty

Just because they love you
It doesn’t give you the right

The only words that want to be written 

There is this moment. When the person you love most slips beyond the grasp of this mortal world. The whole world turns to static. And you react on automatic. And you keep moving like that until you are shocked awake. And sometimes it takes more than one. But eventually you emerge. And all that pain. All that rage and broken shard memories pierces every piece of you. You will spend time. Plucking the shards out. Ripping them out. Until the only thing left is the rage. If you’re lucky, if you can call it luck, you find a way to use the rage. And once it’s gone, you’re empty. And you fill that burned out ashes that you call a life with whatever you can. And, if you’re like me, you burn in your secrets.

But maybe you find a way through. And maybe you start to feel and live again. And this time, this time you will live out loud. You will love and you will speak the truth and you will be the best person you can be. And this time, maybe….this time…maybe this time you’ll be in time. Maybe this time you’ll say the right words. Maybe this time, you’ll be enough. Maybe….