Saturday, June 12, 2010

A letter to my Owner

Slavery sticks in my throat.
Admitting that I want to be possessed utterly is something that I am not sure I can say out loud with any real conviction
I don't want to whine about my childhood, I don't want to bitch endlessly about being hurt and misunderstood...but I don't want to because I don't believe anyone gives a shit. I don't believe anyone really wants me to need them the way that I need them
I learned the game. I play the game. I am aloof and sullen and angry and I don't let people know that every nuclei of every fucking cell in my body is pulling me toward them like gravity I pretended I didn't need them because they can't handle the level of my need. They feel oppressed. They feel smothered. They run away and find something easy.
So I stopped
I made myself cool and arrogant and I turned the world into no big deal. It's not important, don't have to run away. Just stay with me because I don't know what's wrong with me and I don't know if anyone else will even put forth the tiny effort you are putting forth to deal with me.
So you're better than nothing because you tell me you love me and you hug me a lot even though I know it's because deep down you feel as dead as I do
Then after 7 years of feeling like I wasn't really there...that ended. He found something even easier and it was easy to let me drift away and I did because I had nothing to hold on to.
I listed off into an online world where no one knew that I was staring at the screen, unblinking, needing with every fiber of my body a reply, a validation from some stranger who found me interesting. And always, I kept that distance. I waited the appointed amount of time before hitting send. I only made first contact roughly 30% of the time... because need isn't attractive.
It felt like desperation
I wandered into crushes because I loved the feeling of falling so deeply into my emotions. It always happened, and I felt safe behind the screen. I could keep them from seeing just how raw I was
When I met you, I was looking for another emotional fix after having been prematurely kicked out of my last one. I needed that surge of emotion. I whispered to you because we had talked before and I was craving attention. I was always craving attention and I called you that first night because I so fucking needed it. I needed to be wanted, even if only superficially.
You didn't truly catch my attention until I broke a promise. I lost a silly dare and my punishment was that I had to write. It was stupid but you had asked me what I was willing to give and that had been my answer. I didn't believe you'd ever care about seeing anything I wrote. So I lost the dare. I wrote a poem the same night and then I never sent it. I never sent it because to send it would mean that you would know that I put effort into it. You would know I cared about something. It terrified me to be unmasked as someone who cared. As someone who got hurt.
Look at me from the outside!
Nothing phases me!
I can tell what you're feeling by glancing at you, but I will only use it to get what I want in the end. I will only manipulate you so you'll never see how much I love you.
How much everything fucking affects me!
You won't see me cry unless I want it to make you bleed
Until then. Until you and your fucking chinese water torture mind. Your prying insistence and unaffected patience. Until I pranced and danced and laid traps for you at every corner and you laughed at me and called me on every bluff.
Until I saw that you were learning me and learning ME!
You disregarded my bullshit and ignored my crocodile tears and pushed me and pushed me until I cracked and then you sat quietly while I picked up my shattered shells and delicately prodded the thinner weaker shells beneath. I could almost hear you thinking "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"
I feel raw.
I feel raw! I am baring myself to the full blaze of my insecurities and the 20-some-odd years of pretending I didn't need anything.
I am still scared of putting my ful weight on you. I feel like I am testing you at the same time you are molding me. I am breaking down bit by bit before you and watching you closely for any signs of strain while you bear the full heft of what I need
Oh god I need you to make it!
I don't want time to settle in. I don't want you to ease me into anything. I want you to take from me this fucking weight of the self-control I've been dragging around. I want to be feral and crazed and I want to be able to give in to the utter abolishment of this sociopathic automaton that I have created to keep me away from the sheer volume of feeling
I want you to understand that I may fight. I have to fight. I have to battle you for this because you need to win. If you won't fight me, you have to walk away. I cannot deal with the chance that one day I might push you too hard because I am flawed by creation and by experience and by my own damned hand and I am just so insane that I will suddenly believe that you are taking advantage of me and I need to make you earn my respect again.
You can't be unwilling to hurt me, because without those boundaries I feel lost and I will sometimes run headlong into the wall because I want to feel it there. But understand, at my core, I want nothing more desperately than to give everything and to have it accepted and cherished.
This is beyond blowjobs and pancakes in bed and waiting naked for you to return from work. This is me entwining myself with you for the rest of my life. This is me feeding from your power and offering you the sum of my existence in return. All of my talents, my strengths, my foibles, my jokes, my weaknesses and scuff marks are yours. All I ask is, that I can give up this charade of independence. I want to put it down once and for all and live forever in that goddamn empyrean that exists between my ears when I know you are in control.
When I know that, you claim me.
I've been wanting to write this missive for weeks. This once and final signing over of myself to you because I felt that the gentle, slow way you've been taking over the reigns needed a definite and concrete end. I never planned on writing it this morning and I never had any idea what it would say. This is a work of passion and something that I've written through about 5 crying jags. I am out of tissue and working my way back up to a less squishy mental state, so I close with this: Love is not the word for what I feel for you. Devotion doesn't begin to cover what I'm prepared to offer. When you say this committment will be for life, I will counter with this committment will be my life I hope you really, really want me, because I am holding on to my self-control by the tips of my fingers and it's trying to run

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