Much More Beautiful

Wow.

Big Daddy was right. And SO quickly.

One thing that makes me really happy in life ( something I was reminded of today) is that I can say whatever the FUCK I want.

That’s right.

Right here? This is my place.

And I? I can say whatever I want.

That’s glorious! Big Daddy never asks me to censor myself. He is secure in who he is, naturally dominant. He knows that words are the VERY most important thing to me. And to restrict them would be death.

I would die inside.

And I want to shine.

I am much more beautiful when I shine.

Missing Thing

Kind of see
some
thing missing

some thing seen
some
missing thing

saw and un-
seen
missing thing

Skin

someday to me someday’s skin someday’s taste
fantasy to you, fantasy’s skin, fantasy’s taste
forever to us
forever skin

Yes Times

one frightened

                              girl I be

leave your mark

all over me

Short Skirt Syndrome

Girls

Who

Say cock

can count on

no one. remember…

Dramaturgical Skies Dawned

Deep pollution pounds, crows’ wings might,
fate’s the whipping boy, Giving up/crazy lies,
sounds are clouds Billows torn from the same
cloth as magenta and fire flies besides the horizon
line I gave you three tries. Steps away Learning
don’t extend the parastite propagandaist for any old
Tom Dick or Harry who crosses the hearth
Never trust a holy man

Church 14 by Eric Alder

Circling Birds

I’m really frightened of being alone. Especially at night. That’s when I wish I had that extra attention. And if it’s a man, looking to get off, that works. In fact, it’s a sure bet really. Isnt it? Not good for me. It’s good for me that it’s so much less. I don’t seem to have it in me anymore. That rush of knowing a new person, being pursued by a new person. I guess when you have a few bad outcomes under your belt, you aren’t as eager to go back. But then here I am. middle of the night lonely. And why does that type of lonely always settle in your pussy? If the pussy is happy, I’ll be happy.  My life is working really well with my love and Big Daddy. The medications are working. Some positive money stuff is approaching, hopefully. Sure, I’m smoking so much, its insane. And the eating. Dont forget the eating. The body aches, like a new injury every week. It’s so quiet. Sometimes the understanding is so close. Then, its gone again. (I’m scared I can’t write anymore because of my medication.) I told everyone is was a fluke. No one listened.  I am not a very good mom. I see a list a mile long of things I could be doing, giving them. I would rather die than have them think they aren’t worth every drop of my blood, every breath I take or word I write. They are everything. I hate being alone. Who needs these thoughts? Like, the sometimes man. Was that even real? Was that year of my life real? And Marian? Was she real? Is there a person out there with jewel eyes that really contains such a combination of whimsy and hard edge? I always make such bad fucking choices with abandonment, like being the risk taker is something enviable. I would give it immediately if it was worth getting. I wish I was 17 people and none of them did drugs to excess and ate to excess and hid from people and was lazy and cranky and short-tempered and slutty and glass wicked empty.  I wish I didn’t feel so fucking alone. I wish I didn’t question that a collection of molecules such as life even exists, I don’t want to care about which word is placed where and what should I wear and whats my next thing and whats my excuse and whats my rationalization and what more do I need, what reward do I demand, what price do I pay, what dowry do I come with? Can you see me wrestling with this part of myself? Or am I wrestling to beat the medication, my sickness, my demons so strong and engrained, God you could have at least made me beautiful since you made me so crazy, you could have at least made me successful in a career or a perfect mother or a social butterfly, but instead I’m just crazy. Its quiet. I have my fans, and my blankets and my babies sleeping tight in the other room. One has fine, blond hair and hazel eyes, the other, thick brown hair and brown eyes. There is milk for cereal and a bottle. My husband has more work lately, and he loves me. And I love him. I have Big Daddy. And I love him. I have my family, repaired friendships. Jesus Christ, where do I get off being such a sad sack? It’s this lingering, this nagging knowledge that what I have, others have more or better. It’s this feeling that I’m not where I belong. There is more I am supposed to be, or suppose to do. The wrong path, I don’t even recognize the planet I’m on. I’m an alien and I wandered into the wrong fucking place. But these are my babies, this is my life, stop this questioning for no reason. I can’t, what if there is something else I should be doing and I don’t do it and something terrible happens, I miss my boat, I die.

Joy UnExplained

I’m so sad that everyone can’t know this feeling. I want you to read that again and really feel it. That’s the immense nature of my joy.

There is fulfillment in giving myself to his every desired whim. And how easy it is, his desire is mine.

I don’t want to get off unless he does…unless he tells me I’m good. When he tells me I’m a good girl, I go crazy. My toes curl, I need to hold it back.

I have offered him full ownership of me. My heart aches to do what he wants me to do and make him proud. It’s his pussy, his tits, his mouth. They are not mine.

Do you know this freedom? I am not my own! He loves me and wants what’s right for me. He KNOWS. He KNOWS what’s right. It’s his right to decide and with ease he does.

He has stepped up for me.

I’m worth it. I’m worth that ownership, that’s right.

All this time I’ve been hiding these words, masking these feelings. I’ve been begging people to ask. Then, started to initiated the conversations.

Still, it was sort of ignored/ accepted. Perhaps they were still picking up on my own trepidation in expressing something so new, so unknown, and frankly not traditional in society. Possibly a little forbidden, a little seedy.

Not to me. My GOD, not to me. Please! Ask me the questions! So I can tell you of his words, his love, his natural ownership of me. How malleable I have been, under his touch and caress. His confidence, built on a sure knowledge of the right thing. His romance, his old-fashioned affection, his gentleness.

His reprimands, his rebukes, his temper flare, all a gift, showing me he cares enough to scold me, and to put me where I belong. I don’t want to best him. He is best. Big Daddy knows best.

I’m not describing something I’d ever expected or even understood. Is this even a thing, this thing happening to me?

I was an empty cup, and he filled me up.

That’s Big Daddy.

The Alpha Obsidian

The Third Party

A Naked Trickster
A Transparent Snake
Play Peek-a-bo
Behind Adam’s Apple

Gone Fishin’

Why
Do they come and
See me, clutching
Wounds closed,
And pressed to
Stitch breakers,
Mess makers.
Every time I say
Fuck, I’m
A slut
Gone
Fishin’
One more time.