Peace

The last few days, i’ve felt a bit pensive and grumpy. i suppose it’s my process when i’m trying to work with competing sides of me and i have to work my way around to how Sir Raven wants me to speak, to live, to think, to emote. When something else is added, especially in regards to how i speak, i feel myself want to dig my heels in.

It’s ridiculous.

In my head, the tape starts, the one where i was entirely isolated from outsiders and then told for years that i was likely autistic. And i want to take to my bed for a few days like i used to as a child. i wasn’t alone then. i had books and they were my friends. Knowledge was my friend.

i have a hard time not sharing knowledge because i believe that hording it is a kind of sin.

It’s hard for me to recognize that not everyone is interested in the history of the thing in question.

i think i’m better on the page.

Today, a slowly dawning idea. Somewhere between the sweaty walk to the post office and the botanical gardens for the farmer’s market, i understand. She will always tweak me. It doesn’t mean i did something bad. It’s about her, her need for control, her need for being hard on me (which is at least equal to my need for that level of determination).

It is the way she says i love you.

It is a way i understand, like her belt across my ass, her beautiful marks down my legs.

i made her sauce, and the house smells warm. Italian. A mix of tomatoes, wine, basil, cleaners and candles fill the air.

i fixed my hair, put on some blush and lipstick, mediated, and felt flooded in peace.

i am profoundly humbled to serve my Master. i am genuinely thankful for her corrections, even when i need a minute to wrap my mind around what i need to do. We have come a long way together, in remaking me, rebuilding me.

Sometimes, i look around myself and wonder how we got so far so soon.

i am the sculpture inside that she wants most of all.
i am fighting to get out, longing for the blow that will free me entirely, when i will be her perfect creation.

And then i will offer myself again, for her pleasure.

Thy will be done.

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