There is a wildness concealed within my stillness,
a storm amongst my calm.
I ache in silence,
where devotion sharpens into pains, sharp like hunger.
I obey.
Not because I am weak,
but because I was made to soften.
Made to find respite in the strength of another.
Seeking a place where the world finally quiets.
There is a hunger in me that no amount of smut can satisfy,
a longing no black screen can reach.
Because what I ache for is connection, and intimacy.
To be touched in the places most men don’t have the diligence to find.
The one my body and mind is accountable to is far from me.
Distance challenging me.
To crave without reaching.
To trust without being held.
Sometimes I wish I were a more simple woman,
less aware of my own tenderness,
less honest about how deeply I need to be claimed and cared for.
Then I remember, this is how I was written.
Soft,
obedient,
faithful even in my longing.
I am willfully shackled to patience,
even when my body whispers that it is spent.
I tuck my wanting into quiet prayers
and trust that I will not be forgotten.