Loved

I am constantly asking him to define us. With words, with actions. Perhaps I need the reassurance that this is for real. I'm really starting to open up with him. I had a patient unexpectedly code on me last night after I had just admitted him to my floor. We worked on him for 40 minutes and we just couldn't save him. I deal with death all the time- but the closeness of the family, the helplessness I felt with this one- really had an impact on me. Usually I would of sucked it up and went on- I did, even. But I called him when I got out of work. I just talked and he let me. It felt good, to talk and not just bottle it up. I of course denied the impact on me- true to nature. But he knew, he knows. And he allows me to act as emotionless and tough as I need to. Because he knows- later this week when I'm in his arms again he'll make me feel. I can't wait to lose myself in him. We have morphed into something I never thought possible. It is more than the sweet pain he gives me. It is more than fucking. It is the complete dynamic of what we are. It is being his, because of these things, despite these things. I never knew losing myself in someone could be so freeing. I am better because of him, and I'll be better still. I am growing in my slavery. He is the pinnacle of my world.

History

When I was growing up- in those pivotal years I only had two types of relationships with boys. Either I was being abused, or I was abusing. Not physically, mind you. But emotionally. Psychologically. Either you were the weak, or you were the strong. That's it. No inbetweens. My first real boyfriend was of the weak. A giant teddy bear of a man- he loved me completely. I started seeing him when I was in 8th grade- and he was a Senior. He was popular, everyone loved him. His friends were the crazy party guys that all the girls lusted over. He was the rock of the group. Every one's friend. Dependable. In a small town where everyone knew everyone it wasn't odd for the older guys to date younger girls. There were only so many of us. We were together for almost three years. He easily wanted us to last forever. I abused him. I let his drunk asshole friends feel me up at every opportunity. I cheated on him with boys from the neighboring towns. But I depended on him. His quiet strength. When everything went down. When all the shit hit the fan- he stuck by my side. I loathed myself, my existence- and he showered me in love and acceptance. To this day I still adore him. He recently got married to a woman with a young boy. I hope she is good to him. Better to him than I could of ever been. After I left him, I jumped from one asshole to the next. I didn't deserve nice boys. I didn't want them. I wanted assholes. Ones that would make me wait for them. One's that would pick me up three hours late smelling of perfume. And I wanted them rough. I'd provoke them. Push them. Ply them with drink and then push buttons. I wanted it physical. I wanted to be tossed against the wall and fucked. I wanted those bruises left up and down my arms. Bruises my mother once quietly noticed, and said matter-of-factly: "you choose your own path, your own destiny. don't let anyone choose it for you" I heard her. She had lived real nightmares- while I was a young careless girl playing games with fate. I had steadily been dating a boy my senior year from the city next door. He was a few years older than me, with the beginnings of a serious drinking problem. He was controlling. His mother died unexpectedly while we were dating- and I was going to be the one to save him. He pulled me out of a party the night of my graduation. He drove us back to his house at speeds so fast I thought he was going to kill us. When I started screaming and crying- He would just veer the car towards a ditch, or oncoming traffic..I was scared- but my adrenaline was also pumped. I was pissed. I was turned on. Provoking this type of anger made me powerful. When we got back to his place- he gave me my first real down and out beating. He told me I was a whore. I deserved it. And I did. After all, I had been cheating on him. It was what I did. Pushing, provoking men to action. Using my body to get what I wanted. When he finished, he lashed me to the bed- and passed out. It was with the sun- that I was able to wriggle free, and sneak to the phone to call my girlfriend to come get me. I had hardly dialed the number when she picked up- I said her name, and then the phone went dead. He had yanked it out of the wall. He hit me with the phone and then jumped on top of me. My friend of all friends- knew something was up- and was at the house pounding on the door- threatening to call the cops in less than 10 minutes. He let me up and she pulled me out of there. He went into rehab- and would later send me love letters when I joined the Navy. Begging for me back. But I was done with him. I'd tasted his rage. I had got what I wanted from him. I knew the secrets of rage. How to call upon them. How to weather out the storm.

So this is what I'm made of. The need to push and hurt those that invest in me. The need to be hurt- so I know that I'm loved. It is hard being away from him right now. He's not here to hurt me- so it makes me want to hurt him. Lash out and deliver pain. Make him feel me to his bones. The more wonderful and fabulous he thinks I am- the more I want to prove to him that he is wrong. Can't he see how fucked up and broken I am? How sick I must be- because I would give anything right now to have his hands on me. In a world of safe sane and consensual- I am once again a square peg. The only problem being he has broke me. It has to be him. Must be him. He has ruined me for anyone else. He has stripped away casual indiscretions. Now I don't even have that.

So I am left now. Hurting, just not like I want. Physical pain is so much easier to handle.

Safe words

Let me start by saying- I don't condone not having safe words. It is stupid and reckless. Now that I've stated that for the record: I don't have safe words with him. Not one. And now, I'm going to step over the ledge by saying: I don't need them. And if I had one, I wouldn't use it anyways. Critics may think this is dangerous, or even stupid- but I know many of the girls out there probably feel the same way I do. I think when you form that complete trust, when you are able to fully let go and put your entire well being into the hands of another- it is a special thing. He knows me and my body as well as I do. I have never told him to stop. I have never even been close to telling him to stop. A safe word wouldn't change that. I am driven to want, no- need to take everything he tosses at me. I want to please him. He has never let me down. Sometimes- he talks me through my pain, when he sees I'm hurting- and wants more. Sometimes- he may even stop before I truly want him to- but he has never abused the power I have given to him. He never will. How can I be so sure? Because I have never been as sure about anything in my life as I am him. And yeah, I'd risk my life on that.

Veils

"I caught a glimpse of you behind a wall. I broke the wall down but it was only your perfume. I saw you hidden behind a veil. I tore the veil and found a you that was a familiar to me and a stranger to you. I'll sew the veil and keep us behind it until I make you familiar to yourself".

V. wrote this for me tonight. I'm in a horrible place right now. Phyiscally and emotionally I am just drained. I know some of it is life changes- finishing school, starting a new job, the growing intensity between Him and I.

And the rest of it- are the changes I can't make. The reasons that I am frozen in time, unable to move forward, make those steps I need to make- to being everything to him. Monday was one week since I've seen him- and it feels like it has been months. My bruises are faded..and I have to try so very hard..to remember the feel of his slap.

I am trying to pull away, make distance. He allows me this to an extent. Sometimes I wish he would just force me to do what needs to be done. But I know he won't have me that way. He will wait, but I must come to him. I don't know how, or when I will.

Just that I must. I'm running out of options.

I'm slowly wilting. Dying here.

Risk

“Our lives improve only when we take chances - and the first and most difficult risk we can take is to be honest with ourselves.” -Walter Anderson

Not real good at the risk taking. Is it possible to like the safe, yet want it unpredictable? If so- that describes me. But I think there is so much truth in this quote. I've really had to do some inner reflecting on myself of late..and can't say I like what I'm seeing. I refuse to be defeated though. Slowly, surely.. I'm making leeway.

He does good work, that V.

Silence is golden

Shh. Quiet for you. Making you feel my silence. Making you fill my silence. Making you translate whimpers. I know you like my mouth- but you'll have to find other uses for me today. Even though you'll miss my sarcastic remarks, I think you'll enjoy this. You will, won't you? You like taking things from me now. My breath, my inhibitions, my pain, my freedom. My words are just one more thing to add to your list. I know what's next. I know you'll take more. Strip away my senses one by one- because you know it scares me. That's alright. I'm a good girl, I can handle it. Try your very hardest. Maybe I'll cry for you. I know you crave those hard to come by tears. Maybe even more than you crave my blood. And when it's over. When I haven't held anything back from you, you can remove that tape- and maybe, just maybe- I'll sing like a bird. After all- I am terribly easy for you, aren't I?

Hovering

...her eyes flutter like a butterfly hovering,

there are distractions, there are complications.

She settles them.

She dreams she can touch the universe and its blackness,

that she can fall into the stars and become nothing.

-V.

He wrote this to me in April. Even that early in our relationship- He knew me. My demons. My ghosts. My need and fear to feel. Sometimes I am still amazed. He knows me on this innate level. Knowing me is natural to him. He doesn't have to try. I have never been good at expressing myself, letting go of my feelings and emotions- but it doesn't matter. He reads my silences. He probes my words. I am naked before him- I can't hide anything. Being vulnerable like this is terribly hard for me. I have never lacked attention, but this is a different type all together. He literally misses nothing about me. I am both unsettled and ecstatic he finds me worthy of his attentions. It makes me want to give more to him. I still hold pieces back though. Maybe I always will. It is crunch time right now though. I need to make decisions that need to be made. Yes. There are decisions he refuses to make for me- that I need to make on my own. For myself. I'm making strides. Slow strides. I've told him even when able- I would never live with him. True to myself I contradict those statements with daydreams of invading his spaces with my stuff. Doing his laundry, fixing his meals. Waiting for him to return home from business. Working hospital shifts that accommodate his schedule. Just in case I'm starting to sound sappy- let me add he's beating me throughout these daydreams.. *G

Holes

I have these vivid fantasies about girls in holes. Deep narrow holes. Holes that if they stretched on tiptoes hands could almost claw at ground that would crumble beneath them. Manicured nails made ragged and bleeding. These girls are dirty with stringy hair, tears and running mascara. They are usually wet too- though I never recall dosing them in water. I leave the water usage for my water torture fantasies. I laugh at these girls. Tease them. Poke them with sticks, step on their fingers. Mostly I think I just like seeing them cry. Hearing them beg me to help. But I can't. Even if I wanted to. Because there is always a him lurking somewhere in the darkness... and the chance that the next hole he had me dig- could be my own.

Analyze that.

Ass

“Whatever needs to be maintained through force is doomed” - Henry Miller

Master sent this quote to me last night. He is right, of course. He always seems to be right- and I hate that. Not that I don't know this. Not that he forces anything on me- I think he just wants me to be aware. He likes me educated.. *g

He also has plans for me. Dirty nasty plans. I hear them in his voice. He wants my ass- and he intends to have it. Now I have spent half my life fending Men away from my ass. I have become fairly good at it. The trick is to let them think you are giving a little.. doing it in various ways so they think they are progressing. Throw in distraction, and lots of it. Amazing how well and for how long that can work. He knows I am no ass whore. Maybe you could call me an ass tease, though. *g He doesn't care that I have a fear of *porno ass* He may care that it scares me- but not enought to detere him. He wants my ass and intends to have it. I will of course make it as difficult for him as possible. Afterall I want him to have to earn it. But secretly-? I want him to have it. I think. I mean I must. I'm certainly thinking about it enough. And last night I had a dream about having to wear a butt plug like he is threatening me with. Scared or not- I know every piece of me belongs to him.. and that I should appreciate his patience. Still- i'm fond of my tight ass. So yes- the stretching of limits and ass is in full swing.

It's going to be an interesting fall this season.

Random Thoughts

I talked to Master a few times today. He knows me, and knows I'm unsettled right now. He hasn't read my blog post yet- but will after he arrives home tonight. He asked me today if he needed to come back here and slap some sense into me. When he said it my heart and cunt both clenched. I was ashamed I wanted to say yes. He has been working and out of town non-stop- I hear how tired he is and all I could think about was how I wanted his hands on me- making everything better. I told him no, not to come. That I will be okay. And I will, eventually. Untill then I will push and be stubborn- just like he predicts I will be. He even told me this evening it amuses him. It is humbling at times- the way he views me. Different than anyone else in my life. He tells me I have done everything he has asked, even if I fight a bit, I still do it. Thinking on it- amazingly, he is right. I don't know how to begin to deny him. I don't know when this change came over me- but it has. I still want to piss him off- but maybe not as badly. Afterall- he is scary when he's mad.

He doesn't let me call him *Sir* he said that is reserved for strangers. I call him V., by his name on occasions- Daddy from time to time, and more and more frequently now *Master* I struggle with this last one. It always seemed as though it would be fake from my mouth. That it goes against my charachter, and using it would mean I was being some type of *player* He loves it when I call him Master. When I beg I might as well not even bother unless I'm ready to use that missive. I find myself using it on my own now, without prompting- just because I know it pleases him. One would almost think I am smitten.

I miss girls. I want a nice soft girl to take away my sadness when he is away. He won't let me have one. :( He wants my focus to be on serving him, and changing my living situation. I think he thinks it will distract me. And he's jealous.. *G Maybe I can talk him into getting one I can borrow from time to time?

Bad girl

Still awake, restless and true to nature- my mood has changed completely.
I know it's because I miss him. It has been about 15 hours since I took him to the airport-
and it seems like weeks. The emptiness that it creates makes me want to do bad things. Misbehave. Make him angry. I'm not sure why. In my fantasies I anger him- so he flies back out here after he finishes business tomorrow and tells me where to meet him, what time and what to wear only. His voice is cold and hard like it gets when he's angry with me. He used it Friday night when he was upset with me and told me to take my hands off him and put them at my sides. When he said he didn't want me touching him. It cuts me to my very core. But it also makes me wet. I enjoy his rage. Provoking him. In this fantasy he is brutal with me, he uses me with no regards to my feelings. I am nothing to him. He uses me, beats me for his pleasure only then throws me out. Tells me he is done with me and my games. It ends here- because my mind doesn't want to contemplate ever really being in that place. That place where I disgust him to the point he no longer wishes to own me. I know this isn't realistic. He would never punish me with pain- I enjoy his pain too much. My punishments are the withdrawal of his affection. I haven't earned that yet- but I've been threatened. I would hate that. He also would never not be concerned with my feelings. He always cares about how I feel, and takes those feelings into consideration. But still a part of me craves his rage, even as I fear it. Maybe it is just a part of wanting to be certain I really don't have control over this relationship. I am so use to actively taking control I fear that part of me surfacing. But I feel so owned right now. I really do belong to him. So why do I have these feelings? I love being his good girl... the fact that he is slowly adding tasks for me to do- because I'm not wasting his time. I'm progressing, I'm following through. There is pride in his voice when he talks to me. I want to crush it, beat it down. Make him disgusted with me. I want him to tell me he doesn't need me, that I am nothing to him. I want to be his everything and earn the privilege of wearing the beautiful collar he has gifted me with. I don't get it. I don't even want to post this. Us parting is hard enough, but I know when he reads this, if he chooses to read it- some of our weekend will be tainted. He'll be disappointed in me. But I'd rather deal with that then to keep my feelings masked from him. He has earned every single one of them. I attempt to give them to him- as real and as raw as I'm able. It's not right this urge to test him- on the slope of everything he gave to me this weekend. It makes me feel unworthy and hopelessly me-centered. This post will certainly not bring him pleasure. But I know if I want him to fix me- I need to be an active participant. So this is it. I want to be bad. And I know if he was next to me, with his hands on me it would quiet the urge completely. He would slap my smart mouth, tease me about my always dripping cunt and everything else just fades away.
The distance is getting harder. Crossing the bridge from wanting him to needing him is tough for me. I'm not a girl that has ever needed much. I think this is mostly about that. This foreign achy need that I can't quiet- but refuse to feed. I'm not certain how much longer I can live like this. I'm not certain how long he will live like this- and that more than anything, truly scares me.

Marks

Missing him.. but appreciating

the reminders.

So very lucky he chooses me to make beautiful.

Happy

Where to start? There is so much to cover over the span of this one weekend. It will take me awhile to complete my thoughts and piece everything together-but I'll leave a list of the top 20 something:

26. His rope work.

25. That first moment I saw him at the airport.

24. His sense of humor and how he appreciates mine.

23. How he remembers everything I've written, everything I've said- and randomly touched on something from time to time that forced me to realize he misses nothing I do.

22. How when he was angry I could feel it down into my pores. how it never lasted long. how he would never physically hurt me when he's mad. how sweetly he hurt me afterwards when he's back in control of his emotions.

21. How he opened car doors for me

20. The sting of his crop followed by the thud of flogger.

19. How he always orders for me- and gets me to try new things that i end up liking.

18. The feeling I had in the pit of my stomach when he made me crawl for him. it was a touch of anger mixed with my own need and the desire to please him.

17. When I hurt how he would whisper in my ear quietly that I was a good girl, and that I could do it, do it for him.

16. Walking in the sun with my hand in his

15. How one minute he could be whispering to me sweetly in Italian, the next calling me a fucking cunt. and how I can't decide which makes me wetter.

14. The way he makes me feel beautiful when he traces my bruises with his eyes and hands

13. His patience.

12. When I begged to suck his cock- and he let me.

11. How he promises to provide and take care of me- and means it. yet i know he would never attempt to strip away my strength and what make me, me.

10. When he's inside of me

9. His hands around my throat

8. Spending time with him and L. even if she did get me in trouble :)

6. His slap followed by his backhand and the way he finds the fire in my eyes afterwards amusing. How he loves kissing it out of me.

5. The way his eyes grew dark after he made me strip and inspected every part of his property. His tight control when he found marks he didn't like.

4. Sharing creme brulee, wine and conversation after dinner and losing track of hours.

3. When he pushed me to my knees, face buried into carpet, foot on the back of my neck and made a comment about a phrase in something I wrote a week ago " i am simultaneously yours and no one's" He asked me who I belonged to. and then he asked me again.

2. When he cut me, and afterwards when i could tell he didn't want to stop.

1. How I am left feeling now- sore, owned, lucky, and loved.

Insomnia

Well, I woke up and can't get back to sleep. Too giddy excited about today, and my sleep schedule has been messed up for the past few days. Instead of looking at the ceiling I decided to come online to see if He left me a message after his flight got in last night. No. :( I should of waited up for him instead of going to bed early. So now I'm biting nails, worried about the weather we've been having. I will be beyond devastated if He can't get in due to storms. The weather here has been grounding flights left and right. I'm crossing my fingers.


If I could cum, maybe I would fall back asleep- but I'm certainly not selfish enough to be calling and waking him up at 3am to ask. Not that he would probably mind- but I do. I know with all the traveling He's done for work this week He's beat. So my mind is going one hundred miles a minute. I'm excited, but I'm nervous too. It's been awhile since I've spent an entire weekend with Him. Last time I had a really, really intense moment that through me for a loop. I tend to- as I've said, to internalize my emotions. I'm not real good at giving them to him. He is so good with me about it, for the time being. But I lost it on him that weekend. I cried in his arms for what felt like forever. I hated it, because it made me feel weak- and I was just so spent afterwards. But it was also a relieving of burdens. Lifting of weight. When I left the next day it was hard for me. I had to emotionally separate myself from him. A protective barrier. That week was a nightmare for me. I was terribly removed, detached from everything. I guess I'm scared of that again. So I'm scared of that again. I've spent the night with him since then, and was fine. Two weeks ago I spent two days off and on with him and was great. But the whole weekend- I'm afraid it does something to me.
Okay, I'm really done talking about this because I'm psyching myself out.

I've picked out some books to read to him from. The first is Night in Rondathe by Nicholas Sparks. I'm such a sucker for tragic love stories. Hate romantic comedies etc. But give me death and hopelessness and I'm eating it up. Along the lines of Bridges of Madison County it really touched me in places. I'm also taking a book of poems by Margaret Atwood. I've been reading a lot of her lately. Just great. I'll share one. Next is a small book of poems by Catherine Pierce. A fairly new poet on the scene- she has a great voice. Her book "Famous Last Words" just one the Saturnalia poetry contest. Here is a poem from here- though it isn't in this book- it is so very fitting.

3 1/2 Days
She was alive for 3 ½ days.She saw…stories of eccentric living erupting from the shimmer, fluid streams of dreams, the penetrating punch into the stomach of our collective hope. She heard…utterances from a most primal place.The tick tock of a clock, pied piper pleas for presence, a silent soliloquy. She touched…a haunted heart, an Achilles heel, back from hell, a place too hot For human hands. She tasted…One hungry hello, A milk chocolate mouthful of remorse, pink, peppery porn, and an infamous, familial feast.She smelled...her musky liqueur of choice, green apples, but not for pie, and the lingering scent of goodbye.She sensed…at the end of 3 ½ days, the demise of being alive. Death by flight. Maya Angelou is not the only one who knows why the caged bird sings.

-Catherine Pierce

Is/Not
Love is not a profession genteel or otherwise sex is not dentistry the slick filling of aches and cavities you are not my doctor you are not my cure, nobody has that power, you are merely a fellow/traveller Give up this medical concern,buttoned, attentive, permit yourself anger and permit me mine which needs neither your approval nor your surprise which does not need to be made legal which is not against a disease but against you, which does not need to be understood or washed or cauterized, which needs instead to be said and said. Permit me the present tense.

-Margaret Atwood

Breathless

I have discovered the world of submissive blogs and I am hooked. I could literally read them for hours. There are so many common thoughts, common themes from one to the next- even if the type of submission varies. I feel kindred to each and everyone of them, like I am now in on this big secret. I feel sorry for other woman who are not feeling what we collectively feel. What I find most interesting- is just how intelligent and strong these women are. They have careers, they juggle kids and homemaking, they attend school. All this while focusing their energies on service to their one or ones. These are not weak, beaten down women. These are not women who could not survive without a male in their life. They are woman with lives, choosing to give the core of themselves to another. It is- so very beautiful to me. Beautiful- like I'll be for him tomorrow. He liked my post last night, and said we'll discuss the implications of it in person tomorrow. I cannot wait to give to him. I found this poem today- it is untitled and listed among a list of contemporary poems, but I've never heard of the writer:

Touch your face, run fingers down to collarbone
over a pretty white neck
I squeeze you and you are warm
I could squeeze harder and you would not be
you are warm and smell like flowers in the desert
I want to create a new world with these hands, these teeth
your joy is my joy
my world feels open
the wind pours in
I'm on fire
come to me in the night and whisper from the door
I'll start with fits but follow you down the hall
beneath candlemagic and subtlety
become to me the dreamawake in footsteps familiar
touch, turn, ever onward
belief, incandescent insanity

-ASB

Trust

This is a new type of post. I'm going to ask my Master for things in this one. This may sound not so very submissive of me- but I think he'll see it differently. If it pleases him- I want him to tell me three things I can do to make him happier. Whether it's a small gesture or two, a ritual, or task. I want him to know how invested I am in him. That I want more from him than just the betterment of myself. That to my core- I wish to please him. Please my Master- command me?

Shine

I'm impatient. I want everything all the time. So it has been hard for me to understand the care you must be taking not to push me too hard. These new feelings are so overwhelming I constantly want to push the envelop, want you to take more from me, expect more from me. I now realize that you are careful not to set me up for failure. That your pushes are so subtle that I hardly notice. I have no need to fight against them. You master me perfectly- and I am in such a good place right now. Sometimes the intensity in your eyes frightens me. The way you believe in me scares me even more. I want to strike a perfect balance between challenging you, and making you the most sated man on the planet. I can do it. My endless capacity to be such a good girl of late is so very fabulous. 2 days. When your foot is planted firmly on the back of my neck I will finally be in my happy place.

Velvet undertakings

in light stolen from moon

shadow of your hands

pressed together

meeting to stifle

my breath

and force me to live

you through my pores

Veiled

It is always about discovering what,
hidden, does not lie on the paper

-Andres segovia
Just incase I'm being too open, too easy, let me protect myself with a not so veiled quote. My words will always tell you something. Bleeding ink easier than spilling spoken words. But I know you find the real truth of me in my silences. I miss no words, just you breathing for me.

Feeling me out

I don't show emotion well- I never have. It doesn't mean I don't feel- I feel deeply. But most of it is hidden away, beneath peeling layers of me. This still allows me to be a compassionate nurse, but gives me the detachment I need to focus. For as long as I can remember I've masked my true feelings and emotions behind whatever facade fit the moment. Looking back I know this has contributed to much of my self-destructive behaviors and has hindered me almost as much as I feel it has freed me. With Him, I feel as if I am going through a slow chemical stripping of years of coated paint. It burns and is a nuisance- but I allow it for the betterment of my vehicle. I hate when he reads me too well. Calls me on something I thought insignificant until the words fall from his lips. He gives me just enough space that I don't feel suffocated- but is slowly taking this away from me. This discovery leaves me with scattered emotions that range from one spectrum to the next in a matter of days or even hours. Either I am overwhelmed in the moment to give him everything I am, or every pore of my body wants to fight for freedom of self. Freedom from his watchful eyes and knowing words. I can almost figure these moments into an equation. Taking into consideration how long it has been since I've seen him+ how much longer it will be until I do-the intensity of what else is going on with my life. But the curve is changing- and the more time I find myself spending with him, the less time I am content without him. This leads me down one of two paths: a mild depression that masks itself with me pushing and lashing out, or an almost manic need to make him know exactly how much I love him and am invested in him. I'm sure he prefers option 2. All this thinking to come to obvious conclusions when the only thing that matters is I'll be in his arms again in 3 days. When he is hurting me, all this seems a lifetime away. There is only my need to please him and my silent need to release all those pent up emotions that have laid beneath the surface since I last was in his arms. Every touch from him is a gift, a release. And if he makes me cry- I know those tears are the only way to really portray the impact he has had on my life. With memories of his fist in my hair- tears don't seem all that terrible. Perhaps there is hope for me after all. I'll ponder a bit more on that as I head for bed.

A beginning

He has asked of me various times to journal for him. He gave me as a gift, a beautiful journal that sits empty of my words. It is hard to explain why such a natural act for me- putting ink to paper is also so very hard for me at times. Perhaps this feels more safe to me, putting words to screen like I always have. It feels natural. I can't help but feel almost like a poser when I begin to write on sheeted paper. I've always wrote on a screen- and so it is upon a screen I will finally do what has been asked of me. I do not always mind well, you see. But my heart is there. My passion is there. And the need to please Him, give more to him- grows day in and day out. One thing you should know about me, if anyone but Him chooses to read me: I am not perfect. I am terribly flawed. I need more than I can always give. It causes me to hurt people. I am doing the best I can in this moment. But I have also lived for other a people a very long time. This is the beginning of living for myself. I have found the definition of passion at his feet. I only hope to reflect that here, for him.

dance dusk.

spin amber.

hold out for hope that there's hope.

dream satellites.

scorn conformity.

fuck easels.

paint walls so where you've been

can't be ignored.