Voicing the Masochist
I always forget which one I am. I don’t mean
that I forget who’s holding the cane; just which
word goes to which, which switch goes to
which. Outside, there’s a whole world that wants
to define this thing. A glossary for the uninitiated.
Submissive, dominant, those are the easy ones.
Over the years, how many people have tried to split me open,
have aimed to shuck me raw?
Mostly the ones I didn’t want.
No means no, at least in that particular case.
Elsewhere, mercy means no. Tomato. People-eater.
Who believes a word is ever safe?
Around the world, there are girls who fall for any —
sub syndrome. Doesn’t matter what head is worn,
just that he says, “Bend over, bitch” in a growled voice.
A wise man once said, “The quality of a dom is
inversely proportional to the amount of time
it takes him to mention fellatio.”
How long did it take you?
Your cane slants down like overdue summer,
wicked in the wait, too long wet, a momentary
reprieve from the chill. Not like you need the cane.
You’ve got your head on straight. Only your smile
is crooked, only your voice gravel broken.
It’s an old story, Bible old, pre the dawn of man.
Bring this broken one to kneel at your feet.
Supplication. Prayer. This deviant god.
Brand me with the letter of your choice,
make it sweet and scarlet,
the hue of a hundred sins.
Turn me into sweat and salt.
Stop. Don’t turn away. Open your eyes.
This is the good part. This is the part to remember.
NOTES: Well, this didn’t go at all where I thought it was going to go, but I suppose that’s the joy of writing fast poems! Funny what come out sometimes when you just force yourself to keep pushing in an unexpected direction.
Read today’s prompt by Kirsty Logan (as well as the inspiration beyond poem-a-day) over at Not Without Poetry. My goal is to write a poem each day in less than 20 minutes, and without additional revision beyond the writing experience.