Lost

He sneaks
In stealthy hot shadows
Across the night
To find me basking in my lightest cotton
In the streams of amber and spice summer
Where I've gone to skin
Under waves of starlit tree branches and tossed netting
Fanned in an incense drugged air.
I moan the music of a careless, needy want
The siren song of an unpossessed woman
Calling my watcher closer
Reaching for his hands, oh, his hands
To paint me in gold, in butterflies, sweet honied stolen moments.
Writhing into lips that sip
And hands that cover, dry skin against my damp
Pulling me from weary, dregs of clinging day
As his mouth finds every crest and pulse point
Of my breathless impatience
Until I grab handfuls
Of his thick dark hair
And beg.

Obedience is following orders or commands.

It is a conscious choice of my will, something I do to follow laws or imposed rules. It is done with or without the heart. Obedience is a response to a will, action, desire or law. It is a command or rule that comes from outside of me. Obedience is the change of my behavior or actions to comply with a demand from authority.

There is an Old Testament verse that states “Obedience is better than sacrifice.” Relating to Saul, the first King, offering a sacrifice (a gift) to God that God did not request. Saul instead offered a sacrifice from war winnings in place of following God's command fully with his heart. 

Note: God blessed Saul to win the battle. God did not want a 'sacrifice' that essentially cost Saul nothing. Saul had been given clear instructions on what God did want and instead chose to do his own thing. 

Sacrifice is a gift, but it can be altruistic or self-seeking.

To comply is to yield assent; to accord; agree, or acquiesce; to adapt one's self; to consent or conform.

Compliance occurs when I publicly and outwardly agree with my mouth or actions to the greater will/ authority or the group but I have changed nothing internally. I'm just faking obedience. 

It is a sour thing, an outward obedience done without a single piece of the heart. It is done against my will. Compliance is all show. It is situational to another person's or groups will compelled or imposed upon mine and I do it only until it is no longer necessary. It is the thing I do in public when everyone is watching. 

Conformity is one effect of the influence of another’s will.

Acceptance happens when the greater will crushes mine, when I internalize a belief or attitude or action that has been imposed (forced) on me. My will has fully conformed and been transformed into another’s. I’ve given in, usually without pleasure or joy. It is a ceasing of my will along with a desire to stop fighting.

Submission is yielding to power or authority.

The difference between the submission and everything else {obedience, sacrifice, compliance, acceptance} is in my heart and my will.

To surrender is to give-up the power, control, or possession of my will, while obedience is to do as ordered, an act of my will in accordance to another’s.

To obey, I exert my conscious will to follow a command.

To conform, I submerge my will and play-act obedience.

To accept, my will has given up, there is no fight left.

To submit, I surrender my will, fully (my heart, my trust, my body, my possessions) to one who commands.

The hard work of surrender is obedience with love, always keeping my dominant at the center, staying open for communication with trust rather than defensiveness, and willingly following him where I would not choose to go on my own. 

What would you do with a hungry woman?
She doesn't want your money,
She doesn't want any favors
She just wants your body, your time, your focus,
She just wants a chance to devour you,
Touch you and taste you
Know all of you
Like a creature that has been locked away from her deepest desires for years
And you are the map to bring her back.
What would you do?

You wake me slow

With hands in my hair

And hungry growls

Stored up in days of restless impatience

You slide over and claim

Legs scissoring mine, spreading wide

Opening

To take without asking 

Your arm slips around my waist

Breath on my neck

One touch, two and I’m groaning 

Tipped into pleasure

As if I’m falling into galaxies 

Scalded raw and red by star fire

All moisture licked up in

The fury of your passage

Through clouds and time

Until it rains again

In this other world

Where dreams come true

I can't take the photos or paint the pictures in my head of the mad woman who lives there. She’s all rounded curves with soft indents and dimples in all the right places. She’s witchy, Repunzel black hair that curls around the blush of her pebbled nipples, and hides the swollen fat slit between her thighs. I have to write her, journal her, poem her--in word after word. Write her Rumpelstiltskin cleverness, her bite of the hags apple, her sacrifice to the dragon with the blood or her womanhood unashamed and alive running down her legs and returning to the mud she rose from. I have to write her a hundred ways, in a hundred stories both innocent and corrupt, but always artlessly, blatantly sexual. I don't know if I’m exorcising demons or finding myself but I can’t seem to stop.

I open for possible
For cautious hopeful
For sun dappled light on white sheets
Melting into my skin
As I rise
And turn, face down and kissing cotton
Fisting salvation
as the light motes across my back
And then bend deep
With a groan
Of pain, of pleasure, of understanding
That long, low female sound
Echoing
Between valleys of carved out time
Spread my legs, expose
my soft hidden heartbeat
To arch unto
The knowledge
That grips my hips
Making blue and purple fingerprints
Lifts me to my toes
And sinks into
My moan.

(This was written on my phone and still has many typos.)

I was thirteen years old.

(I don’t see women talk about this.)  I had a friend who was a boy and I wanted him to like me. So I set out to make it happen in a few soft I touches and brown eyed smiles. It worked. I had sized him up as the perfect victim. He wanted to be liked by a girl. Badly. So I became that girl. He was my friend, however, and firmly in the friend zone. I never had any intention of moving him closer.

I’m currently watching three little girls. The youngest is 9 months-the girls are learning to do the same thing.

Oh, they love their daddy, but no female child is above using his love for them to get what she wants. Some Dads recognize this, but they don’t understand it. Yes. His daughter loves him. Yes, his daughter needs him. But even at 9 moths old she is not above using his need to love, protect and provide for her to get an extra cookie after mom has said no. And getting that cookie (against Mom’s orders) feels like a triumph.

I’ve seen this play out so many times in households as daughters grow into young women that it baffles me that we as society seem to forget that this behavior can become embedded in a female character when it goes unchecked by diligent parents.

Add parental guilt and shame and its often reinforced.

This girl grows to be a woman. And she decides at some point that she wants a dominant, strong, decisive man in her life-in spite of the rampant feminism that has told her she needs only herself. She wants to be thrown into the bed and ravished. She wants to be desired. She wants a man who wont isn’t afraid of her pouts and emotions but doesn’t capitulate to her foot stomping. She wants to be protected and taken care of by Daddy energy.

Or at least she says she does. Because the same society that taught her she doesn’t need anyone but her own inner strength (which she has discovered in is exhausting, isolating , and soul killing) has also told her she can have everything both ways, told her that she gets what she wants and gets to choose what she doesn’t want.

And she can use that feminine gift that worked so well on Daddy to get it.

There are also those who feel entitled. They deserve to get what they want because someone hurt them. All their girlfriends support this, cheer them on. No one encourages kindness, mercy, or forgiveness anymore. The girlfriends are out for blood. It might hurt a man, but men do it all the time, men are fake, men use women for sex, men lie, so she, as an empowered woman, should do all these things too.

Fake subs exist. They use their feminine wiles to take instead if give, pretend to submit instead opening their souls, and hurt because they know men are worse than a wild grizzly bear in the woods.

They exist and they make it harder for the rest of us to find a man who hasn’t been burned so badly, multiple times, by a woman that he finds it difficult to trust or communicate past those experiences.

And let me be frank: Woe to a less than attractive man, because he has little value as a human being to a woman other than what he can give her. He deserves what he gets for thinking he should be loved and wanted, too. This man is a mark and some women will make him their victim if he allows it.

Just because I am saying there are manipulative and fake women doesn’t mean I am saying their aren’t manipulative and fake men. There are. I have engaged with and played dangerously more than one online wolf.

But I wonder how many men were taught to be that way by the women in their lives and society and how many were just born that way…

I’ve seen little boys flirt. But they flirt to get attention, to earn a smile, to make their parents laugh. When they want a thing they point and demand the thing without any subterfuge. In adulthood it is a straight line between their desire and getting what they want-for men who do not play games.

Even the wolves online-they want those videos ladies-but most simply demand what they want up front without giving anything back.

It may be old fashioned and hetero-normative to say this, but I’m saying it anyway. Fake subs exist, women are predisposed to manipulate men and men become (are taught to be) manipulators. 

Change my mind. I’d love to discuss. I know this is incendiary and I know they're a weak points to this argument. So lets talk about it.

 I fell into the darkness

Where my true self lived

A creature of voluptuous hungers,

Silken black hair,

Silted dark eyes

And curves that swayed

With every step.

What was this? How had she gotten free?

I clutched at my white starched collar and coffee stained apron

In matriarchal revulsion

-That whore-

I thought I killed her

A hundred times

Buried her deep in unmarked graves

Yet here she was again.

Smile winking at me

In cream and secrets

Glossy damp crimson lipped

Over her freckled shoulder.

She kept walking,

Giggling as she bent to blow at a dandelion star,

Her pink hairless core

Winking at me

From a Venus fold

As soft and wet as a rose

In gratuitous bloom.

I turned hot with all the shame

She didn’t feel.

Before she danced through the dark,

Past a parade of masculine

Teasing skin

between motes of light and dark

Shameless in her appetite.

I had no knife to silence her

Here in the dark

Only truth

Whose wounds bled deep

In me

But left her

More free than all the starch

I’d used as armor

For my fears.

I wont be gentle

He said

But his rough was sweet 

Slow pain

Covering her, pinning her down 

In an embrace that arched her back

Cupped her chin

And slid deep into a dark everlasting

Past her flinch and her scream 

Where every velvet stroke 

Poured molten 

In her soul, 

And transformed sex into 

Therapy 

Full of dark epiphanies 

And filthy growled affirmations in her ear.

(There is an image for this, in fact this is the last verse in a series of 3 images and three poems  but I can't share the images so here's just the best of the three...)

She is a messy, sexy-filthy-thing

A dangerous, hungry thing

Blind and deaf and silenced

Waiting in the dark

To open

To bloom like some kind of freed night flower

Stars bursting on tumescent petals

Dew slipping down, down, down

Staining the sheets.