Tag Archives: love

Sex and poetry

A warning first and foremost as this post digressed hugely into talks of so-called sordid activities and smut, when it was namely about my poetry. 

Sometimes I write poetry and delete it thereafter because I am ashamed and I don’t want anyone to ever see it; other times I write poetry and I can’t bear to destroy it, but I am also slightly ashamed to want to publish it anywhere, so what do I do with those?

I put them into my cloud in a file called “Never Publish”.  What is the point of this you may ask?  I may as well delete them like I have others, what makes these ones so special?

Honest answer is I don’t really know and for some, I know that I need to verbally read these poems out to people for their opinions before I publish them.

Most of the ones I lock away in shame are about sex and some other non-sexual but dark views, views beyond suicide or graphic detailing of body horror, many of which are from my past bad memory stores. 

Some of these poems pertain to the BDSM lifestyle and others to the occult – and because some people can’t understand a writer who can write from different perspectives of their own and they often label the author as being “whatever” label fits at the time pertaining to the subject they’ve written at the time; I am quite nervous to be branded a “whatever” wrongfully.

My point is.  I believe a whole caboodle of things and I write from many perspectives; I am able to separate another person’s point of view away from my own and write as though those were my thoughts and feelings and I think to be a good writer, this is an essential skill to learn but it is fraught with difficulties and discrimination from others who may misinterpret you as a person.

This is why I don’t share a few of the things I write and I won’t even do so under a pseudonym.

Some poems are created and burned alive screaming, some are written and hidden in shame and others published online or waiting to be sent to a poetry magazine when I feel confident that I am a poet.

I’ve been in denial of being a poet for years, how is that for amusement?

I have often been heard saying “I’m not a poet, I just write poems from time to time because I am bored, I’d rather liken myself to a lyricist who can’t compose because I can’t access my software anymore”; Look really darling it’s the same thing, but try drumming that into me… it doesn’t always register.

Tonight I wrote one of the NEVER PUBLISH poems and they won’t even be published, why?  Because it pertained to quite graphic sexual acts of sodomy and I knew that for some people this could be offensive.   I just wanted to write something dark and sordid because I am feeling more than a little playful and dirty tonight and yes, I am quite open to say that sodomy for me is not a sin – so that’s what I came up with and I didn’t mean to offend anyone with it but rather entertain lustfully – but I had my reservations because of the sensitive people in society who will think that I am just either simply disgusting or that I am offensive to their sexuality.

Whereas to me, I was merely celebrating it in true revelry and the poem really showed the primal urges of humanity at their most base and animalistic level, but I know in some ways I went too far! 

Sex can sometimes make us feel dirty, make us feel like unwonted creatures and this is what was portrayed in the poem I stashed away.  True delicious filth and yes a woman can relish in homosexuality of men and sodomy in general, I relish in pleasure by definition and I enjoy observing the pleasures of others, is that so evil of me? 

Don’t answer it, I don’t want to hear those dogmatic views. 

I don’t think that’s an act of evil, do you?  Not if I love it, not if I don’t judge it, not if I don’t hate it… what do you think?

I have personally done a lot of art over the years pertaining to sex and what some people in society would call “Sleaze or smut”; I like drawing sexual figures, sometimes in abstract, sometimes in caricatures and I get immense pleasure from it.  But, I was raised to feel ashamed about being proud of sex and my sexuality and you know… stay a quiet good girl and don’t show public feelings for whoever you are with.  Shocking girl!

Who do you think you are to constantly be touching your partner as you are out and about, don’t you care that you might embarrass them?  But for me, no… it’s not like that, I like touching and being touched, if I give a person the permission to do so that is!  Being in a sexual relationship with someone, why not?  It’s a given, isn’t it?

I like the protective reassurance of a man who constantly touches me in public if I am his – holding my hand, guiding me to places, snuggling up against me and warning the world off with one glare over my shoulder as he embraces me from behind.  Why not show the world how you feel about each other? 

My only concern with this is that I am so easily turned on the whole world will know I am gagging for it and can’t control myself, that’s my only fear with it! 

My whole life I have been a very sexual being from quite young – mostly with myself as pitiful as that sounds – ha-ha!

Time and again I have entered relationships where the other partner has not been very tactile and to find someone who likes to be touched in my experience seems rare and few and it’s disappointing to say the least and it affects my confidence as a lover and often makes me feel rejected by them and used – I say used because it is like they can touch me when the feelings catches them but I can’t touch them!

I’ve got out of the habit of being tactile myself and now I am free and available again to look for a new relationship I am afraid that I may come across as rigid as over the years the touchy touchy me has been trained out! 

Yes anyone can be sexual and they can have lots of sex and talk about it whilst they drool, but do they really understand it?  Do they really have what it takes to be a genuinely sexual person who isn’t shy about it?  I am no exhibitionist, but I am proud of my sexuality. 

For me sex is more than just dip and go or rather in my experience with men I’ve had dip and collapse in five minutes flat! 

I am no whore and I am not constantly gagging for it with any Tom, Dick and Harry, no offense to any Thomas, Richard and Harold’s out there – however, I am not a person who is just all talk either, like most potential and actual lovers in my past appeared to have been.

I’ve had lovers who are look but don’t touch, I can penetrate you, but you can’t do a thing to me, I want you to suck me but I won’t suck you types.  Selfish lovers, lazy lovers… I am not like that.

I am a snuggle type too, I don’t like going off to my own side of the bed clutching a pillow and not touching my partner whilst I sleep – I expect to be snuggled most of the night or be touched in some way – I don’t like how people join and then separate so readily like they don’t matter to each other.  The only time this is marginally ok is if it is a super heat wave!

I don’t like the fuck and sleep aspect either, where’s the pillow talk and the extra tease?

Why is sex always rushed a two minute breast fondle, a five minute dip and an all-night collapse… what the heck is that all about? 

One of my exes once told me that my drive is too high, I need to get it seen to, it’s not right and it’s not natural.

I’ve been told so many times that “It’s not right or natural for a woman to like porn; it’s not right or natural for a woman to think about sex so much to the extent of writing about it or talking about it or drawing lewd pictures of people having sex as often as you do”, apparently.

It’s not natural for a woman to be overly sexual, talkative about being overly sexual and proud of it either and being very open about what she likes and dislikes regarding it. 

But the thing is it is; only few women do, because most aren’t brave to voice it and do it, because of backlash.

Because as women we are meant to be docile and discreet and good little girls!

The girl who talks about it a lot must be a whore, must be dirty, must be tarnished goods – they don’t believe that a sexual woman can actually be good and loyal and clean and not whores at all.

I’ve had many partners in my time who had their sexual pleasures with me, but not many of them ever actually penetrated me, surprise, surprise and not all of them have been same sex partners either.  Most of it was heavy petting and BDSM games without any vaginal penetration outside of toys.

If you think about how many sexual play partners I have had there would a few, but how many were penetrative and actually performed proper traditional sex with me?  Two consensually!  That’s all, two – but to think about my sexual experiences and the number I have played with, you’d think I was a whore, because you would have wrongly presumed they all put their member inside of me somehow and they hadn’t.

Primarily because I do not like taking contraception, but that’s a different subject altogether! 

Women will have a hard time believing that there are men in this world who can be around a naked woman playing with her bits and never being tempted to thrust into her within minutes, but in my experience they do exist and they appear to be quite common actually.

I’ve slept with several men who never touched me too, just sleeping with them and never doing more than just kissing a little and a hug now and again, women too.  Yes this can happen, no sex. 

Sex shouldn’t be taboo, it’s the most ancient activity in the world and we’ve been doing it for millions of years and if we hadn’t have, we wouldn’t exist, would we?

Societies are prone to trying to hide their most primal instincts and they shouldn’t – it’s not healthy, in fact it’s very mentally damaging.

I am contemplating getting a smaller bed in my bedroom so I can bring my art table upstairs so I can do more art – because as I am getting advanced in years, I am becoming much more shameless and a lot more embracing my true self and the art I want to produce is not really something for a thirteen year old boy to feast his upon! 

I want to write more sexual poems and I want to draw more sexual pictures.  I accidentally took the wrong sketchbook with me to the dentist a few years ago and dropped it, a woman picked it up for me and wide eyed saw the nudes and the sexual art I had done inside the book and she said to me – Oh my goodness, you are just like Tracy Emin only better!

At the time I had no idea who Tracy Emin was, but when I researched her, I liked her ballsy art, but mine does appear to be more graphic and doesn’t leave much to the imagination! 

When I was quite young, I was unprotected from the adult world and sex was thrusted into my face at most angles, my innocence to these sorts of things went when I was around four or five years old; things on the TV, sordid parties I observed through the bannisters my parents had all sorts of things and I often found things around the house that were quickly snatched from my hand only to learn they were mummy’s toys.    

A huge contradictive upbringing I had, devout religious parents who literally believes in beat the devil out of the child, spare the rod and spoil the child and children should be seen and not heard types – but at the weekends getting pissed in front of the said child and partying like we’re in Babylon!

Oh and don’t forget the small one serving bottles of babycham for the kids to make them grow up more human!  You get that from the age of five, after your fifth Christmas and every party thereafter! 

When I was a lot younger I thought I’d have healthy lungs to pollute so I can smoke, because I have a smoking fetish and I always saw myself as one of those ladies who had cigarette extensions and called everyone Darling and wore a red silk turban with a brooch in the centre and laughing like a kookaburra at cocktail parties.

I used to watch late night TV alone in my bedroom on my black and white TV, mostly looking for Godzilla but oftentimes there were adult movies and gameshows on channel 4.  I watched them as a child without a real bedtime when I was home educated and nobody bothered me after 2am. 

I’d watched all sorts of things that would make a decent parent cringe!  I was told never to reveal my favourite shows to people outside the family if they ever asked, because I liked things such as “Tall guy”, “the man with two brains”, “euro trash” and “band of gold” as my childhood favourites, the latter is a program about prostitutes! 

I remember sitting with neighbour kids and cousins some nights watching these shows and we used to have big discussions about it all and what we’d do when we grow up!  Some of those were suppositions of whether or not we would sell ourselves or not if we were adults! 

I fully planned to grow up having all sorts of cheeky things around my house like penis ornaments and big red lips leather sofas and all sorts of funny, quirky things just for a laugh. 

You’d be surprised of the imaginings of a 10yr old that was raised unprotected from the adult world!

I tried smoking as soon as I became of legal age and after just six weeks I gave it up because of a chest infection, I was sad, because I had only just perfected blowing circles and got into the fun hobby of blowing smoke into bubbles!

I always liked a smoky room until I developed asthma in my early 30s. 

How I got into talking about all of this when this post was meant to be about what I am doing with my poetry and art, I have no idea – but I am having fun with all these revelations and no I am not drunk.  I haven’t had a glass of wine since Christmas!

And you can stop the “yeah but what else have you had in the meantime?” snipe too, I have behaved myself, so now so should you – you naughty, naughty readers you! 

So there you have it – well you are lucky, lucky people if you do…

So now you know, that there is more to me than just snuggles and rainbows, there is a very passionate woman inside of me who is learning to embrace the idea of coming out in full fervour and using her passions for both sex and creativity to the fullest of its potential and to Hell with the prudish shoot downs from a society who is waiting to suppress my most primal expressions!

I’ve been trying to behave for decades and its boring as heck!  I am bored of men who just don’t have it in them!  When I want a pervert they are either excessively so to the point my stomach churns or they are just all talk! 

It takes a lot to make my stomach churn by the way, believe me! 

Now, does this mean that my poem about sodomy is going to get published now, right here, at the bottom of this post (no pun intended). 

No.

Spoil sport, I hear you say!

Sorry, maybe someday, but not today…

You’ll get some smut eventually, but goodness knows when!

Thanks for reading and remember… God said go forth and multiply!  I often wondered if that was translated exactly true to word?  was it actually “I deleted my true idea of the translation due to the idea that an atheist (Paul) heard it and though it was blasphemous for some people and I am not an atheist at all but found it funny, so I got into a flux and deleted it! 

P.S There is likely a similar and more edited version of this on my blogger account in a day or so.

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Filed under About my work

Flux to Fluck?

I am in a flux today.

I am experiencing deep depression and high motivation and there is no real in-between.

On one hand I feel extremely down and tearful and struggling to even think that I’d get to April and on the other I feel pumped to exercise and morph my body over a time into how I really want it to be.

I’ve been staring in a mirror for months trying to see myself through other people’s eyes and occasionally I see something, but then I move my head a certain way and the ugly comes back to haunt me.

So, exercise raises endorphin levels when you do it after a time, but it’s getting the will to get up and just move today that’s eating at me.  Because I just want to hide under my fleece blanket and cry about things, cry deeply – I’m wearing hoodies a lot lately to hide the fact I’m crying so much to other members of the household.

They really haven’t noticed, perhaps my friend is right – I’d be a good actress?  Who knows!

When I have got used to never dreaming because things never happen for me, someone comes along and tells me that life is soon to be great and it’s like another tease.  More disappointment for the future and more broken dreams and an even more shattered heart – that’s the forecast for me I think.

I used to be a positive person, a Pollyanna and I used to tick people off with my ray of sunshine and words of encouragement – it’s like someone was bothered by it so much they’ve cursed me!

I’m told regularly, I will have great things because I have a great talent and this person and that person likes you – it’s all bullshit really, because I haven’t seen these people tell me things.

There are lots of talented people in the world who don’t have those great things – I’m not the only one and it’s not things that I want.  It’s love.

A few rich men haven’t got that into their thick heads yet – they think they can seduce me with things, but they can’t.

Why are the simplest things in life so hard to obtain?  A persons time, snuggles; words of love, support and encouragement, a good time and a laugh without judgement?

A tactile relationship that feels real and not based on lies and broken promises, a relationship where we encourage each other, instead of one of us being a sponge and draining the life out of the other in order to make the other one feel better?

I know I have had a life of abuse, but it sounds strange to roll this off the tongue, but I was always a happy kind of person, known for being bubbly and friendly and since I’ve moved here slowly and steadily I am being drained of life.

I remember before I moved here that I could never imagine the day I’d die, I was scared of death and wanted to be immortal – but now I crave death.  It’s so contrast!

My willpower for survival is weakening.

Paul told me the other day that when a problem used to occur when I first moved in and I wasn’t moved by it and stayed relaxed and the same, that it bothered him, frustrated him even.  Now, whenever there is a problem I am at the complete opposite end of the spectrum, where a problem can become a huge drama quite quickly and it’s a big contrast and he thought that I’d be more supportive and take it more seriously, but instead it’s made me fall apart.

I know why.

When I lived with my parents, emotions were not tolerated if it made a person loud or unmanageable and unproductive. 

When I came here, it’s ok to be loud, shouting, ranting and raving at the slightest problem and to not let go.

I’m a huge empathic sponge, I soak up the energies of people around me and become like them – I’m a spiritual chameleon of sorts.  This is why it’s essential I remove myself from this environment somehow, but it’s difficult when the energies around me are apathetic, depressed, defensive and aggressive.

On the rare occasion a visitor comes who is of lighter energy, it rubs off me quickly and I feel like the old me again – their energy can boost me for a couple of days in fact, but it never lasts.

I remember having such high energy when I first moved in that I drained Paul instead.  Paul looked awful and exhausted all the time.  Because I was always on my feet, being bubbly, finding joy in the smallest thing like a child in a candy store, no matter what happened in life – everything was like a novelty to me and it was.

Because I rarely got to choose anything and go out when I lived with my parents.

I had comments from Paul that I looked at the world in childlike wonder and innocence and that I was so excitable, he kept telling me to slow down, calm down, sit down, lie down, everything had to come down.

Till I emotionally fell down and can barely get up with the weight of it all.

Words can’t describe how I truly feel – all of this feels like intense whining of a bitter heart who hates the world for the joy it has because she hasn’t got it.  Jealous slurs, that’s probably what you’re thinking about this post right now.

If you aren’t thinking that, then I apologise.

Art would show the world more of what I feel inside, but then again I can’t use my art table right now can I?

I really miss doing art.

I think the reason why I look younger than forty is because as tragic as it sounds I cry so much my tears sometimes dry on my face and make it feel taut after a while.  Like now, my face feels tight because the tears have dried.

I try to keep my sense of humour and find something to laugh about, which is part of the manic depression I have.  One minute extremely low and playing with sharp objects near my wrists and then the next moment cracking jokes about my darkness.

I might be depressed but with the tear treatment at least it keeps me young.  It’s a little light, but still gloomy and incredibly pitiful.

But that’s where I am today.

No in between – motivated to exercise and cry my heart out at the same time whilst being at my most deeply creative. 

Lack of sleep, slept four and a half hours again last night, my average for the past few weeks actually.

Motivated to exercise because I saw a glimmer of hope in the mirror the other day that I could look exactly like Diana Dors (Diana Mary Fluck) my main idol after all!  Just dye the hair, tone up and lose around forty pound and yes, I can see its possible I could be like her…

Maybe someday I will get myself out of this dump and sell my work and get myself a red dress covered in rubies and diamonds and wear a pretty wine coloured faux fur shrug with a silk ribbon?  Maybe someday I can walk in high heels without looking like a rookie tranny and actually be elegant and swan like?

Or maybe someday I will be found in a pile of my own poems covered in blood and white as snow, cold and still like ice and maybe my finders will publish my work for me and I will become posthumously famous?

Sods law that.

Thanks for reading…

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Filed under Brain Drain

Loveless Hell

Though it’s grey and dark

My heart still beats

Slow with apathy

Slow with pain

I question will I love again?

Or is my heart still doomed?

I sit amongst the gloom

Soaked with tears

I’ve sat in this position for years

Wondering will my heart beat with the throes of spring

Or will it forever sting?

My tears have burned scars into my face

Will I ever be in a happy place?

Time will tell

Till then I am in a loveless Hell

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Filed under poetry

The butterflies sting

I told you not to touch the butterfly

Lest she falls apart

I told you not to touch her

But you couldn’t help your heart

Now she’s broken into bits

She’s fading fast like snow

Because of broken dreams

You have caused her woe

You couldn’t help but touch her wings

You couldn’t leave her be

Now she’s melted in your hand

But you still don’t see

You are to blame for her little life

Fading and now it’s gone

You couldn’t help but touch her

Though you knew it’s wrong

You were enchanted by her spirit

You were enamoured by her wings

You really thought your touch was light

You didn’t think you’d sting

But I knew the butterfly

And her heart was made of snow

To touch her has killed her

Now you cry with woe

Maybe you are now a butterfly

And now you fly on delicate wings

Maybe someone will hear you cry

Don’t touch me, it will sting!

Poor little butterflies

Unloved and forever alone

Because their heart can’t take it

Their broken hearts unsewn

And people think they fake it

Though they surely do not

But to touch a butterfly wings

Will cause those wings to rot

Do not touch a butterfly

Let them flitter on and pass you by

If they land upon you – great!

But please do not make that mistake!

Do not touch those delicate wings

Do not be the butterflies’ sting

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Filed under poetry

End those wars

You are bored drama llama

You have a beef that is decades old

You can’t help yourself

So you are bold

You tease and manipulate

Till you find an end

But you can never find solace

So you can’t ever mend

Playing games with the pawns of the people in your life

Feeling very proud that you are like a knife

Sharp witted and sharp tongued

The people you’ve stung

Another trophy for your wall to be hung

When will you stop playing these games?

When will you stop playing with the flames?

When will you live in peace and love?

What will it take for you to put back on your gloves?

When will you listen to that heart of yours?

And live in true harmony and end those wars…

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I trust wildlife

One of my crows died this morning, Kerr.

I heard a hullabaloo outside and looked out the window to see their offspring mourning on the grass verge and the rest of the murder in the sky trying to dive bomb away the local buzzard which was trying to swoop down to eat the remains.

I liked Kerr, he was quite old.

It’s odd it should happen the day after I was talking to Paul about how I haven’t seen Scruffy for weeks, another crow I like.  A female, her mate is called the Sentinel by me, as he seems to watch the house and me more than the others.

Barbar was really distressed.

I’ve lost two of my crows in a short space of time as well as a magpie, which I believed was killed by his own family.

He was a runt by comparison, I called him Rocky.  He would sit on the window ledge and was so tame I could nearly stroke him when the window was opened.  He had an obsession with a pebble that he carried everywhere with him, he was unusually thin and although he was about a year old – he was still being fed by his family, sometimes forcibly.  I think they killed him as he was a burden, he never grew up and he was quite strange for a magpie.

I miss him too.

I am silly like this, I get attached to the local wildlife and name them and I will try to tame them when they come into my garden and care for them. 

A few years ago Paul wanted to take me to live with him in Canada, but our plans fell through due to my ill-health.  He always said, he could imagine me on the porch surrounded by bears and raccoons and hand feeding them berries, treating them all like pets!

I actually think that would have happened too, if we had gone!

I am rather shamanic and very brave around all animals.

I have nearly touched a real live bear once too – they were passive, I got within two inches of their snout before their keeper stopped me in my tracks.  You see I had found a way through the bars of a zoo cage to touch them.  It was a friendly bear and it sniffed my hand and tilted its head like it was going to let me stroke it.  That zoo made renovations very quickly after this happened.

I had a deep sense of trust it wasn’t going to hurt me, because I could read its energy. 

But that’s just me, a feral creature in her own right with a deep understanding for nature; humans are far more dangerous than any bear!

All I think about is love, I send love to the animal, peace, I don’t have a fleeting feeling of fear at all – I feel happy, content, loving, peaceful and trusting and say over in my head like I am talking to the animal itself – I just want to share my love, I won’t hurt you, let me touch you. 

Thanks for reading!

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Filed under spirituality

Hate

Hate is misunderstanding and fear

Hate is primal and doesn’t endear

Hate is the biting words of anger

Hate is often wrought with danger

Hate can’t love when it’s aroused

Hate is where the ignorant is housed

Hate doesn’t hope to change at all

Hate scratches and scrapes and viciously mauls

That’s what hate is behind these walls

That’s why I call haters fools!

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Filed under poetry

Emotionally promiscuous

One thing about me and my poetry is that sometimes I have relapses.

There might be nothing negative going on in my life at all at the time, but then I sit back and I think about something and the old fears come back to haunt me.

What’s worse about all of it is how lonely I am and isolated.  How I haven’t got anyone to really care or love me as pathetic as it sounds.  It’s worse because not only am I needy, I am emotionally promiscuous (though a good girl generally) lol and confirmation bias.

I don’t whine, it’s not my nature.  I am a considerate depressant.

I try to stay happy for people around me; I try not to sap their energy.  I literally shut myself away in a room of my own and absorb myself in gloomy poetry giving you the misconception that this must be my personality – some tragic depressant who mopes around all day looking glum and ugly.

But it’s not true.

I’m one of the happy go lucky people who walks around like some kind of summer camp rep so nobody really knows what’s going on inside me, unless they live with me and catch me out!

I do everything I can to make life a happy place for others, I live for others, I am not motivated by my own selfish needs – this is why I found it essential for me to be “in the lifestyle” (BDSM lifestyle, specifically TPE).

That kind of lifestyle makes me motivated to do things consistently, because my partner or Master as they are usually known, will ensure I don’t have time to think and dwell or makes me utterly focus on them and their needs and expectations. 

I don’t mean to sound horrible or anything, but I wasn’t depressed before I moved in with Paul, my depression was diagnosed at a hospital when Henry was around five months old as being post-natal depression, which I found was wrong because I had absolutely no negative feelings for Henry; Just going through a bad patch with my mum and getting down in life in general because of the state of the house.  I explained this to them, but they wouldn’t have it.

I was at the hospital because of chronic heartburn being mistaken for a heart attack, by the way – at the time my blood pressure was sky high and still hadn’t regulated after the birth!  103 over 145 I think it was at the time!

I was hospitalised regularly with blood pressure and extreme morning sickness when I was pregnant with Henry, morning sickness was so bad I lost approximately thirty pounds in weight before he was even born!

Anyway, I digress…

The fact of the matter is – my poetry sometimes seems aimed at people specifically but it’s not.  People from my distant past maybe and fears about possible reoccurrences in the future in new people – but most of the time, it’s just current bouts of fear and uncertainty.

I’m scared you see.

I’ve given myself a time line, that if something hasn’t drastically changed in my life by April (and I don’t mean career wise, I mean on a personal level), then I think I am likely to do something stupid.

Because I’ve had enough of not getting any sort of comfort, love, security, health, warmth and happiness.

With this to be considered first things first – I will reluctantly try and get into the lifestyle again around the end of March to test the water and see what’s available for a forty year old – not much I know, a submissive should be between 21 and 30 by most master standards, especially if they want to have a family, like I do.  I may extend my deadline to the end of May, depends.

But generally in my past, when I’ve been on those sites I’ve found someone and moved in with them in less than a month – I’ve always moved fast in relationships, I am impulsive like that!  But I have to consider I am fourteen years older than I was the last time I was on there and overweight, with a tooth missing and no professional qualifications or good health to inspire a new master to take me on.

Especially not in the roles I was used to at the time – I was a consensual slave, not a submissive – a vast difference and I was always involved in what they call a princess slave role, an alpha slave girl of a poly household – this meant I was trained to keep other girls in line, because I can switch.

Thing is, it’s difficult if there are masters who switch too, because I find it difficult domming a master who I love and respect, in a humiliating way.  In a passive way, fine, like letting them suck my toes and worship my body etc. – but the whole spitting on them and that I can’t do – because I respect them too much!

I also had daddy dominants, I am very playful by my very nature and never really grew up – but I am not infantilised if you understand me?  But I can roleplay really well!

I was also a kitten girl for a time too, but that’s pretty boring as you are animalised and aren’t expected to be human.  I liked reading books and the master I had back then found it amusing I wanted to read, and relented occasionally to giving me books to read inside my cage.  Yes I had a cage.  I was a part time live out kitten girl. 

Boring for someone who thrives on chores, cooking, cleaning, shopping, ironing etc. -I am very domestic! 

I don’t do well in vanilla (normal) relationships because my partners get annoyed at me constantly asking their opinions on things – which dress should I wear today?  What should I eat?  What should I do today?  I am perfectly happy to hand that level of control over to a person – depending on how healthy it is and safe Etc. 

I was very sought after before I moved in with Paul because I hadn’t very many limits and I am a pain slut, as they call them, women who find pleasure with certain types of pain.  Most of my limits were due to medical reasons, or squeamishness that resorted to play not being very fun!  Or anything that triggered my PTSD, such as humiliation – that’s a hard limit!  I’m a praise worth, I function better with praise, attention and tenderness.

Around the right people my confidence can bloom or crash, depends on them and depends on circumstances, with the right people I feel as though I can do anything and I can become a bit of a daredevil if I feel, safe, loved and protected!

I don’t like masters who like breaking people down to rebuild them, I like the kind that wants the best from a charge and always thinks the best for their charge, the kind that see their good girls as precious and when they are bad they will know it!

If I am lucky to find someone before May, I’ll live – but my blog may be closed, depends on the master.  I surrender completely to the right ones.

If not, I can’t guarantee I’d want to carry on to be honest.

I am getting older; all I want is love, a family, a purpose.  As I said I am never motivated for myself and there is no incentive to stay here, I am not needed here with Paul.

But it’s scary because a new master could do anything and I will tolerate a lot until I think things are too unsafe.  I really don’t want to come back to Paul again, but he is my safety net – he’s promised.

I was sought after for another reason too – I don’t need micromanaging like most!  I have a brain, I use it and I have been trained to determine what the master wants, because I pay attention!  I ask a lot of questions, which isn’t always ideal for most – but the good ones appreciate it, because they know I am trying to make an effort to understand them and adjust for them.

Another of my limits is, I won’t submit to women – absolutely not!  They can submit to me however, but never try to make me less than the best female in the room!

I have a jealous heart and I like being smug and precious.

So shoot me, guilt trip me, do whatever you want – but I am proud to be me!

I know you will miss me if I find someone who doesn’t like me blogging and I know the world will lose what you call “a talent”, but hopefully I will be happier.

Who knows?

There are a lot of bad masters out there, I know…

Just felt I needed to explain myself is all!

This is why I like men with big egos, smart, social, virile and sarcastic – pure heaven if they are into the lifestyle and have a knack for motivating others in a positive, robust and fun and patient kind of way!

Thanks for reading! 

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Filed under About Me

I regret the scrawls

I’m lost in pain

Drowned in thoughts

Twisted in knots

My heart churns like a sick stomach

Going insane with the loneliness

Swirling in a spell of bad blood

Spitting poisons and toxins till they flood

Because I had a dream

The dream scared me

Told me I can’t be free of being used

Cast away like an old shoe

Nobody can love someone like me

Because I’m ugly, can’t I see?

I’m stupid, immature and broken

Even worse, I’m stupid because I’ve spoken

About my fears though they might be wrong

But I can’t wait till I belong

With someone who loves me true and through

Someone to swim with me in the blue

Or better yet pick me up in a yacht

And sail off with me like a shot

I try to think of better things

But fears like that just ring and ring

Inside my head day and night

It makes me dribble words when I write

Lots of drivel on my blog

Creating a depressing catalogue

Of all my thoughts, hopes and fears

Things I will regret down the years

But I do try to calm myself

And put my feelings on a shelf

But the burden grows intense with weight

So writing this alleviates

Though it’s hard to stomach I know that

I am sorry for all the inner combat

I haven’t slept last night not much at all

Just sat up and regret the scrawls

But I need to get these things out there

Because those dreams did really scare!

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Filed under poetry

Never let me go

I’m a jewel that shines real bright

If my conditions are really right

If you love me and cherish me too

You can see all the different things I’ll do

I love deep and I give my all

But that doesn’t mean that I’m a fool

I love hard and I care a lot

I don’t like love that’s cold then hot

I need to be the precious one

In your life and heart

Although I let you play at times

I know we’ll never part

Not if you love me true and through

That’s all I really want from you

To be your baby kind and sweet

To be your favourite kind of treat

To know that each and every day

I am yours in every single way

I won’t betray you

So don’t betray me

I am still open

So trust in me

I am not a short term girl

I am a precious sort of pearl

A rare find in this world of ours

I could sit and talk for hours

About what I am and what you mean to me

As long as you remain keen of me

You can play with others too

But just remember who is who

That you will always come home to me

Talk with freedom and honesty

I’ll obey you most of the time

But what is the purpose of my rhyme?

To let you know that I do care

That my earlier poem did quite scare

But I want you to know something right now

That as long as you make a solemn vow

To love me and keep me for all your days

I will honour you in all your ways

But treat me bad and break my heart

Be sure, that vengeance will be stark

Because I’m tired of the pain

Of loving again and again

Only to love in vain

And be alone once again

Giving love to tricksters who do not care

To be hurt again I could not bear

So many times I’ve been broken

Used again like a temporary token

Don’t I deserve to love and keep?

Do I deserve to cry and weep?

Feeding pride and ego too

For people who keep me in the blue

Why can’t I love someone?

Who will cherish me in return?

Someone who will shield me from the sun

So that I will never burn!

The love I give is deep and tense

For I do give my all

Anything you want my love

Just give me a call

But don’t cast me aside at all

Adore me all you can

Because I need husband

That is a protective sort of man

His pride and joy that would be me

Though submissive I’ll be free

Because I would know he loves me much

I will be tender with my touch

Because he loves me so

Because he will never let me go!

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Filed under poetry