Tag Archives: pondering

would you?

if you were asked

to forget everything

you thought you knew

would you?

if you were asked

to embrace your scars

as a masterful tattoo

would you?

if you were asked

to adopt an alternate way

of viewing blue

would you?

if you were asked

lay down your swords

and stop the abuse

would you?

if you were asked

to solve life’s puzzle

using past as the clues

would you?

if you were asked

to travel along a path

others deem as taboo

would you?

if you were asked

to live in a world

with a rose coloured hue

would you?

if you were asked

to spread your wings

and aim for the moon

would you?

if you were asked

to plant your feet

until possibilities grew

would you?

if you were asked

to let your pain die

and birth life anew

would you?

if you were asked

to taste the potential

and not swallow, yet chew

would you?

if you were asked

to surrender your heart

to ultimate truth

would you?

if you were asked

to create your own destiny

would you


if you were asked

to love me

the way i love you

would you?

if you were asked…

would you? 

I don’t often write of love.

I don’t often write of love.
Sure, I may occasionally pen
Directed as a suggestion, more so than a profession. Yet, who am I to suggest such a thing? For I, myself know not what it means.
Sure, I’m familiar with the term, have used it broadly in exclamation of intensity, but what confusion simply using one word can often bring. I am a mother, a grand one at that. No, not a boast, I’m just that old. My love for these beings is undoubtedly the most intense I’ve experienced. Yes, I know I’d lift a car if one happened to be between me and the moment of ones life and death. This love, is without question. But upon reflection, would I find such strength, such a will within myself, to lift said burden from crushing me? History has proven to me, no. Now that’s not to say that my future reads as bleak, not admitting I find myself unworthy, it’s simply reminding myself that’s it’s only me, that will ever stop me from feeling truly worthy, of love.
I love to write of lust! The thrusts of such carnal toe curling throes, flows so easily from my pen. Again, I wonder if it’s because I feel safer with the boundary that using the word ‘lust’ over ‘love’ implies.
To be totally truthful, ‘love’ scares the absolute fuck out of me.
That single moment of undeniable vulnerability simultaneously makes me ache in yearning to taste, and hide my heart away… in aid of what, keeping it safe? Love of ones Self, is no doubt my life’s goal. Well, a challenge so far, but a goal none the less… Love of and for another, that love that has kept the hands and hearts of poets occupied for eons of time, and will continue to do so for eternity I suspect, yes, that love, terrifies me. I mean, honestly, allowing one soul to reach in, behind every mask I adorn, strip me of all pretense, cull me of any shelter, bare me of these layers that I’ve tirelessly placed in self preservation, of protection, against breaking, against being taken, as a fool, as a love sick fool…yep…terrified!
And what of the moment of realization that on paper, the realities simply do not connect all the dots, yet the way every moment of every single day is completely drenched by thoughts of how they make you feel, complete, worthy, wanted, needed. Is that enough? Is that love? Or just another lust that wears a cloak of blood pumping greed? Does love even need to make sense? Or is that the whole purpose? It never does, never will? Is that the hurdle that must be leapt? The edge of the cliff that must be found? The jump, the fall, the not knowing if you’ll crash n burn or flap n soar?
Fucked if I know! All I’m sure of is that I don’t often write of love.
For I, myself know not what it means…


need (n.)

need (n.) anything that is necessary

need varies from that of a want, it speaks of an instance where without it the consequences could result in such negativity as dysfunction, or death. yet, a word, so freely used in place of a desperate want, an aching desire, an overwhelming urge to experience something.
need delivers fresh air into our needy lungs, a steady flow of blood to pump through our needy veins.
need forces us to consume fluids and foods in order to even reap the benefits of needing to expand said needy lungs and hearts.
but what of when a want presents itself, so deliberately, so incessantly, so constantly, that it itself, becomes a need? do we merely want, to feed it? or is it truly a need?
will i die, if i don’t seek this, follow this path, experience this?
will i literally die?
you know, i believe i could sometimes. perhaps not in a few moments, as would be, if a pillow was suffocating me, but a slow, potentially painful fall, into an aching disparity, yes, i believe i could actually die.
ok, so let me offer an example.
one chosen due to personal reasons, yet also because many of you that read me, either write, or read of such particular need.

the need to submit.

have i perhaps conjured in you, a niggling need, to offer your minds opinion?
if not, keep reading
if so, keep reading

the need to submit
so, before i continue, let me just state, when i speak of submitting, in this tense, i am writing of the lifestyle of an unparalleled relationship between a Dominant, and submissive, a Master, and slave, not submitting your final draft in on time, or an overnight movie rental. However, those too, could possibly result in death, depending on your circumstance. this post is not to reveal my personal reasons for traveling this vastly misunderstood path, rather to expand on my ‘need’ for clarity when using and believing in the words i/we choose to infuse my/our minds with.

now, even if you have no interest, no prior knowledge, no lingering care factor for this subject, i don’t believe you need, to stop reading… ha! see what i did there? in other words, reading these following words won’t kill you.
damn i love english.

as many submissive hearts that beat on this planet doesn’t even come close to how many reasons that they do, so i’ll not even attempt to cover where the need stems from. what i will say, is the sheer force, of their conscious decision to kneel before another human, in complete surrender of will, is not merely a want, a desire, a silly whim, it is indeed a need.

need to nod or shake your head with an opinion yet?

many lives, are born into kneeling, be that to a God of their families upbringing, a soldier, captured, begging for release, or even a woman born into scrubbing floors. each of these examples may seem opinionated, but really, they all speak of need. a need to serve. to survive.

i believe we were each put on this earth to serve. be that of a religion, as a messenger of faith, or one called to battle, for his country, or a medical practitioner, serving to preserve the health of our planet. even retailers, are in service, yes, many for the profit, but that’s a separate conversation, on integrity, still, they’re working their asses off in order to serve the people with an ache to persuade their hands to dig deep into profitable pockets.

we were born to serve.

need becomes blurred, when an over active mind, such as mine, works and warps words into all sorts of contorted loops of ludicrous lunacy.
need becomes blurred, when one questions the indeed severity of the word and meaning itself, death, possible death. surely that is enough to stop this internal conversation of how i can even keep dancing with the notion that submission to another being is indeed a need.
yeah, as you can possibly see, that’s not quite the case, and here’s why.

even before her eyelids part of a morn, thoughts, visions, emotions stir, swirl through her veins, claim her first waking breath, her reason to stretch, her little sly smile, her arching silent purr, even before she climbs from her bed, her mind has been swept aside in search of desire. then, a sigh. why?
so she continues with her day, mothering, housemaid, worker, slave, mmmm slave, intoxication again spills as she fulfills her duties with a fervor, as if her every motion has been instructed, directed, projected by a force other than herself. now, surely she must be crazy! she knows nothing of having such a life, always strived toward her goals, capable, confident, successful in her own right, decisions made through her heart, not mind, she held a power of her own, deliberate, purposeful, grateful and gracious, yet here she was, walking through her days, imagining a presence that overpowered hers, another sigh, why?
is it a want, a desire, a yearning to be lazy, to have another decide how each day should be? is it a silly game she keeps playing to make it seem as though her days aren’t so lonely, like her time is allocated for something more worthy? what is this incessant scream inside her mind, what is this overwhelming surge of emotion that constantly consumes her to the point of tears?
tears, she spilled, for something she’d never seen, never knew, never believed, yet dreamed, tears, bucketing her hopes, in surrender of allowing herself to not know what this was all for, what could she possibly need, she had earned her all, and more, yet the tears, would still fall. why?
her days, splayed in a blurred devotion of denial, she needed no other than the air to fill her lungs, a painted smile replaced her cries, yet the mirror she turned to, never could hide the sadness in her eyes. why?
years, yes, years would go by, in the blink of an eye, seemingly so, unless it’s your soul that knows, there’s no more ways to hide, her shoulders slowly curled from their posture of pride, her tired frame, she blamed on the day to day, her health, waning, in ways that can not be healed by doctors or surgery, not yet, why?
shaking off salacious thoughts, for the shame of constantly craving for something so socially degrading was all too strong…
hands, strong, soft smooth hands, fingers that curl in a come hither motion, fuck, her heart bursts into palpitations, his lap, beckoning her body to lay upon, naked, of all her inhibitions, all her self doubts, all her thoughts, her lists, her duties, her reason, her everything, her nothing, with one look, one motion, one breath, one slow curl of his lip, he alone, cleared it all, her mind, finally fell silent…
need, this, is her need, to kneel, before him, deliver her body, free her mind, offer her heart, break open her soul, need, this, is her need, to have another be her savior, to take her hand, in guidance, in deviance, in destined enlightenment, he needs, as much as she, for her to need him, to be serving him, to be his, to own, to use, to abuse, cherish, dote, adore, explore, expand, command, delve, to deliver, experience unquestionable trust, surrender to human truths untold, to be completely exposed without self judgement, pushed beyond boundaries, revealed, revered, hurt, repaired, spanked and soothed, coil inward upon command in knowing you’ll be unfurled, choked of the air screaming to be inhaled as the crippling wave of orgasms crash your writhing soul into an existential flight into bliss, no not orgasms, full body quaking spasms, mind altering spaces outlined by infinite lines, yes, need, her need is to be bound, by ropes and chains, marking her flesh as remnants in reminder of the bind that pulls firmer once freed from the physical, the strings of her heart, plucked and strummed by her freedom to kneel, in open surrender, total submission of her free will.

need (n.) anything that is necessary for survival

you may not believe, conceive, even understand this need, yet all that have felt, just a single moment of receiving that sharp intake of air upon wondering, panicking, hoping you’d actually make it to the surface of the downward pulling seaside current, the clarity of life that suddenly drowns your very being, because, you breathed, because, you needed to, you reached, and succeeded.

i’m not asking for retort, nor do i need it, not requesting opinions, because, these are my own, not hoping i swayed you into being a collared slave, not pretending my musings are anything than my own minds meander, however, if you have read this far, then i am grateful for the time, and do hope i inspired some seeking minds to believe, that a need, may not be seen as such by another being, but please, don’t let that stop you, cripple you, kill you.
a need, is a need, if you can’t breathe without it.

be free
love, me xx

How did you know?

Oh my…
How did you find me?
How could you have known
every single letter that would own
my achingly awakening bones?
How did you know?

You pen of the world
the universal truths
as though you have slept
inside my very own mind
kept silent all these years
just until I was ready to find
How did you know?

You scribe of times
that our lips sublimely met
knowing all the while
how wet that makes me
Never mind, that we’ve not seen
each other in the flesh
I get it, it’s poetry…
About me…
How did you know?

Our tangled limbs
in sweat soaked sheets
resting upon never endings
sends me deeper
into your pounding chest
as my metaphoric head rests
in luxurious linguistic tease
I know you write of me
How did you know?

Those blue eyes
that have claimed your desires
pale to my shade
of green
Wait… Oh, I get it
You don’t want others
to see how you truly feel
about me
You’re so protecting
How did you know?

Your letters dance
as though the music
just flows for your words
to merge in perfect verse
Cinderfuckingrella sisters
may cut off all their toes
to slip into those slippers
but I know
they belong on my feet
that you sweep me off
How did you know?

The way your ink spills
filling up my heart
it’s like we’ve never been apart
Time was ours
to devour as one
Hey, where did you go?
What do you mean it was a show?
Words worded for art sake?
We were destined
Our souls were to meet
finally finding the other half
I knew that
right from the very start!
You played me
like an instrument
that was harping
to be owned…

How did you know?

(Un)conditional Love

In truth
the only love
worth claiming
has no limit
no bounds
no hesitation
It is pure
for it is not
to reason
to season
to lifetime

In truth
we each possess
such love
even those
who know
of only pain
of anguish
of torment
This love
comes from beyond
the confines
of our minds
it doesn’t hear
the lies
we continually reap
or sow
It goes deeper
than the hearts
that keep beating
out blood red
and clashes
of rejection
It is of no sense
for it’s not
reliant upon a body
of any mass
There’s no maths
that can calculate
the formulation
of its origin
its creation
its procreation

It just is

In truth
we believe
we have a choice
to love
to hate
to remember
to forget

In truth
we are simply grains
of minuscule matter
feeding off the egos
of those that came
before us
Waiting to be taken
to the next step
of knowledge
of power
of surrender
of understanding

In truth
we matter more
than any of us
are consciously aware
for without
the incessant self doubts
the crippling desires
the guttural eviscerations
the verbal
the physical
the mentally abusive
the wants
the needs
the dreams
the fantasies
we would be free
to just love…

And….who the fuck wants that!


Girl Talk…

From the moment we can
We do…
Girls talk…
Sharing our truths
Be that of which Barbie
gets to wear the hottest shoes
Or which one gets a night out
with the almighty handsome Ken
We talk
We spend hours
discussing the hottest boys
in the school yard
Days splayed in the sun
speaking of our virginity
and how we gave it away
We talk to children
teaching them all we know
hoping our words
will assist their growth
We whisper to teens
allowing them a moment
to believe their dreams
are not just worthless
but worthy of every wish
We converse
over afternoon teas
with ladies of similar lives
driving our chats
through laughter filled afternoons
We curl onto sofas
nestle in nooks
of our aching despair
with chick flicks and chocolate
We march
screaming for our rights
We silence
quietly seeking stillness
We parade
our happiness brightly
We shade
our darkness with masked smiles
We grow
into women
So girl talk does too
It morphs
as all truths do
It becomes less
about gossip
of what others are doing
It becomes more
of our journeys
and how we are pursuing
~ Girl talk ~
Girls talk
Ladies talk
Women talk
We will always do
anything we need to
to learn unto ourselves be true
I myself
am no longer a girl
I have shifted
beyond that title
I am a woman
into my soul I have grown
Now, when I talk
it is not of the unknown
I have no regrets
I use my past as my guide
I have no reason to hate
I used myself as the bait
I will never be a victim
I created my entire world
I will never know it all
And that there
is why I adore
Girl Talk!


I give it 5 stars!

I give it 5 stars!!

Isn’t that what we all want to say?
Your book was a masterfully crafted piece of supreme literature that should be revered globally!
Originality, deliverance, execution…

Here lies my woe.
Ok, by no means am I anybody who’s anybody when it comes to the literary universe.
I’m an uneducated, embarrassingly under read, unpublished, word player…
I have no accredited authority to judge, nor a vast knowledge when it comes to the importance of a book review.

This here post, may very well offend, even sever ties. That’s assuming it’s even read.

Here goes nothing.

My kindle, not to mention bookshelves is abound with collections of works, ranging from unpublished newbies, through to novels by Hemingway and the poetic tongue of Lady Nin…
That, gives me nothing.
Not when it all comes down to giving a book review.
Now, on a literary front, I ache to offer some guidance in timing, placement, cadence if you will.
I won’t.
If you didn’t love your piece, and the way it read, you wouldn’t have sent it out as ready to review. Would you?
Again, who am I to correct…?
Then comes the moralistic front, I fucking adore you, the person you, the prospective author you, the battler, the inspirer, the get up each day slave away despite realities pull, remaining fixed on your insatiable intention to live inside your made up world write! write! write! you, the you that is doing it, the you that knows there is a story to tell, the you that breathes through each tear of wordless despair, the you that has pages stuck together by the rings of yesterday’s ten cups of insanely strong coffee you…
How have YOU not already earned my 5 star rating?
I’m in fucking awe! Complete awe!

But what if the story is underwritten?
The plot in need of a little thickening?
The structure is sound but it grows a little wonky with each page turned?
What if the book is not my cup o tea?
Just not for me?
What then?
Do I give it a 5 star review on the basis that I’d still buy it, place it forever in my kindle library, purely to assist your journey, in this ever populating realm of ‘everybody longs to be published’?
Do I mask my true opinion
with raving squeals of support?
Because honestly
I want nothing more
than to see you succeed.

So I ask myself this, upon the time, that is slowly approaching, what would I want from those I offer my prose, to read, to digest, to review?

Honestly? Honesty.

Damn, if my book is not worthy of you turning the pages till there are none.
If my storyline lacks lustre and could offer more
If my characters are boring, my visuals cloudy, my writing deplorable, I’d want to know.
I’m learning.
In saying this, I know we each have different tastes, alternate ways to string these bemusing things into syllables of linguistic verse.
I curse words I’ve written long ago, for being malnourished, undercooked, incomprehensible at times. Until I smile, at the knowledge of my youth, finally meeting her match, in a womans growth.

I won’t lie, I’d lie…
I’d push your words with all that I have.
I’d wish you the world on a silver platter.
I’d promote it, implore more to read it.
Help you, to sell you, assist you in your growing dream.
I want you, to be a household name.
I want you to be truly acclaimed.

I feel ashamed.
Sink back into my own dark place, berating myself for the fact that I’ve known of better books, yet pushed yours as the best.
Surely, there’s a known alibi among literary friends, that gives you a little bending room to totally blow a waft of supportive smoke, stroke a needing ego?
Before the reviews of strangers come through in waves of truth.
Perhaps, it’ll be a hit, and my review will be perfectly reflected.

So…. With all that said and done, where do I go from here?

Back into the shadows, with my over active, under tamed, insane mind.
Unscrambling these highly coveted letters.
Hoping one day, you’ll give me your true review.

Even if all the stars
belong to other hearts
Even if the truth
will undeniably bruise
Even if you wished
it was different to this
I’d want it still
Help me earn my quill


Multi Face Its

Kaleidoscopic views
twisted into marvel
Tessellated patterns
seemingly fitting
Hues of understanding
with each turn
Clarity fading
lines once sharp
into blurred edges
Colours darkened
from scarlets and greens
into screaming blues
Blackened trails
of betrayal
staining cheeks
turned pale
The veils of truth
the lies her eyes
have been facing
Quivering lip
in avoidance
of believing
what’s being written
The tip
of her pen
with ink
she no longer
should let drip
has hold
of her shaking
her mind
now molded
into the hands
of quicksand
into new depths
Her thinking
no more
her soul
with regrets
of old
grown cold
Ones new
she clings on to
with a hope
a plea
that she has learned
how to see
through the faceted masks
adorned with precisions craft
A vicious laugh
in her guttural grasp
not meeting her lips
for her heart
has met
this age old trick
in another
has found
her coiled
in disbelief
her view
of any beauty
that may lay beneath
she remains
with her kaleidoscope
that one day
she will forget
the names
of the pain
If only
she can refrain
from making
the same mistake
she lifts
the twisted lies
to her eyes
in hope
she’s grown
to see through
the shadows dance
And face it