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The Duality of Ill

...trying to find that balance in life...
3 months ago. Feb 15, 2020, 9:01 PM

Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
   If this be error and upon me proved,
   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

                                        ~ Shakespeare


Valentine's Day

There was a time in my life that I flowed down the river of communal teachings. If a man loved you, he would buy you things. Especially, on Valentine's day. Of all the day of the year, this was the day he was supposed to do-it-up right. The one that he should never forget outside of his anniversary. The one that has to be perfect. I imagine across the board many of us are brought up this way. After my second engagement busted, I gave up a lot of those types of expectations. I think that I also gave up on finding love - though I loved.

I have been without a partner for some time. It has been far lonelier than I care to admit. It has not been since my relocation that I  understand just how dark my days have been. When you have been alone this long, you pick apart the things of the past. Searching your memories for the good times and try to understand why things did not work. It is during this deep reflection that you also learn that what you thought was annoying and intolerable was trivial. You will find that having the trivial in your darkest times is as beautiful as morning dew in the desert. 

Case-in-point sleeping in the wet spot. Nobody wants to sleep there and you will argue and fuss it.
I tell you I miss that stupid wet spot. ๐Ÿ’— And the adorably stupid arguments that went with it. 


She was like the moon—part of her was always hidden away.  
โ€• Dia Reeves, Bleeding Violet

Hidden Away

I love to talk and communicate. Learning about people. Providing my thoughts to help see a perspective or a path. Writing gives me time to sort the thoughts in my mind. Like these moments. You would think that with all that I am able to give to you that you have seen through to my deepest depths. That is not the case. The easiest way to hide is in plain sight.

Last night, I did the math. It has been more than twenty years since I've received a gift from a lover on Valentine's Day. I paused for a moment and marveled a bit. When I set my mind to something, it is ironclad. I am quite stubborn that way. But, twenty years, I thought. How hard had I been fighting and what was I fighting for... or against? 

Why was there so much fear in my heart? 



I still love, but I am afraid of love. How silly is that, really? The one connection I want the most I cannot have. That deep mutual connection with a dominant man who won't run from what is behind that door. He will accept what is there and protect me as we walk together. He will welcome me back to the world and be a steady foundation on which I can rebuild. 


My garden is his to the one who has the key. 


- ill ๐ŸŒธ





3 months ago. Feb 1, 2020, 6:45 AM

I am not a stranger to the dark
Hide away, they say
'Cause we don't want your broken parts
I've learned to be ashamed of all my scars
Run away, they say
No one'll love you as you are


This lifestyle gives the illusion of transparency. You communicate to your potential in a way that allows you to reveal your innermost self. The burning fading ember, if you will. The ramparts and ruins that make up the truest experiences in your life - those that have defined you for most of it likely. It is not all ruin, of course. Like anything negative, that is all they see. Communication is supposed to be paramount, but when the rubber meets the road the weak disappear into the ether. Narrowly a trace of their existence in your life except for the memory you have of them.


What you are left with is a rather shitty feeling. You question what you did and how you pushed them away. They often never reveal this...


The truth is that I do not want anyone who cannot accept me and walk with me. It is a waste of my time and theirs. Why would I bend to his desire if he cannot first show me I am what he desires? If he is not brave enough to embrace the burning blade and tame the savage heart (nerd moment), we are not a match. Of course, it hurts, but it is simply better this way. I know who I am and with me comes both brightness and darkness - a duality. He will see me as a prize. That thing that satiates him. He will walk straight to the center of my storm and wrap his arms around me - undaunted... fearless.


The brightness is brilliant. The darkness as pitch. It is a balance and he is apart of that equation.


- ill ๐ŸŒธ


4 months ago. Jan 2, 2020, 7:25 AM


My medium is writing - however unread I am. My imagination is a font that is always overflowing. Moving. Changing shape. There are a few of you here that know this about me. My mind is rarely quiet even when sleeping. Restless. Writing is a way for me to express the restlessness in my heart and mind. Focus has always been difficult for me to maintain hence the low readership. While reading has always been difficult, writing has not.

When people ask whether I've read this or that book, I've found that a safe answer is, "You know, I don't read, I write." That shuts them up. Although some of the questions come up time and time again: "Have you read Thackeray's novel Vanity Fair?" I ended up giving in and trying to read it, on three different occasions. But I found it terribly dull.

 - Umberto Eco

I will likely read Umberto simply because of this quote. Do not get me wrong, I do read. These days it is technical manuals, but I read. It is not a very joyous part of my day - more of a necessity. I think the last book I turned an actual page on for pleasure was The Silmarillion, by J. R. R. Tolkien. I've taken to audiobooks because focusing can be difficult for me. I do not want to miss out on the story. I do so love an entertaining story. ๐Ÿงก While I would never discourage anyone from reading, I would tell any author to fuck themselves for discouraging anyone from writing simply because they have difficulties with reading. It is a bit soul-crushing for any creative to hear this bit of rubbish. 


I recently went to an art store to pick up a couple of things for myself. While there, I was thinking of what was inspiring me. Oogling the pens and paints - wishing I had more money and time to spend there. Some people like shoes. I love a great pen. I have a gift to send and thought I would love to add to this to inspire these beautiful young ladies to be fearless in their creativity. I wanted it to be special when they opened it. They can do anything. While this was conveyed to me by my mother, my step-father would always stop me from that anything moment. It was always yes but you can't do that.



I made my way to a section that had stickers used in journaling. There was a young girl there with her family. She was looking for stickers for whatever art journal. She looked at some stickers that had iconic Paris images. The young girl was inspired. It made me smile to hear her excitement. She wanted to use this in her journal and artwork. So, of course she discussed buying it with her father. The discussion I heard was disheartening. His reasoning is that since she had never been to Paris she should not put these things in her journal? 

She held out hope ending her argument with a positive upbeat, "You never know. Maybe one day!" 


While I was biting my tongue, I said a little prayer that her dreams would never be squashed. I wanted so badly to turn around wink at her and say quietly, "one day, you never know." It angered me to hear her try not to be diminished. I felt like I could hear the inspiration leaking from her soul and bless her she did everything to sew that shit up and maintain. I thought, "She is going to be a strong woman when she  grows up." 

She has been on my mind every day since...


I will leave you with a poem I received from a stocking stuffer from my mom. I love cats and I love to write. Poetry used to be a favorite for me. The book is I Could Pee on This and other poems by Cats by Francesco Marciuliano. Quite frankly, I could pee on this kid's father. If only I were sure he would not enjoy it. ๐Ÿ˜… You never can tell these days. 



You can't hold someone who
  wants to leave

You can't clutch a memory
  as if it were today

You can't take an insult
  close to heart

You can't grasp for glory
  from your chair

You can't seize life
  thinking only of loss

And you can't grab a laser pointer dot
  on the wall

No matter how much you try

These hard-earned truths I give to you


- ill ๐ŸŒธ



4 months ago. Dec 30, 2019, 1:44 AM


This is just a little bit of fun I found while searching for the best way (practice) to keep my feed moisturized in the winter. Sometimes the best gems are found when you are not seeking them. There has been no shortage of giggles from behind this keyboard (and awe) as I rabbit-holed sex, feet, and orgasms. Apparently, I am living in the wrong country.

A study conducted in the Netherlands to measure the differences in brain function between men and women during orgasm revealed cold feet as an inhibitor to orgasm.

One article said this was an "accidental" find, but it is science (and we will likely see a counterstudy). You look for one thing but sometimes find another. Socks. Who knew? Okay, we know who knew.๐Ÿ˜œ Though I'd imagine in this realm, stockings, stilettos, and boots might suffice? The article goes on to say that when provided socks, 80 percent were able to achieve while without socks it was only 50 percent.

According to the study, women need an environment that feels safe and secure in order for her mind to be completely focused on sexual arousal.

When you want to make love to a woman, you must give her the feeling of being protected.

Now, this study is gender-biased. However you identify, I'd like to know what people think. I giggled because I thought to myself, the BDSM community seems to have this on lockdown. I also stumbled across another article regarding tickling...? Tickling men's feet can actually make them last longer in bed. However, the article suggested sending an electrical current to stimulate the nerve (something I am interested in)? A bit beyond tickling, don't you think? Okay, I suppose tickling is an electrical current. 

...tickling a man’s feet to stimulate the ankle with a mild electric current is capable of tackling premature ejaculation.

At the very least, it will be a fun moment. ๐Ÿ˜… Honestly, just put the tens pad on his ankle - problem solved. Other than this, I really have nothing serious to discuss. But please, add to the conversation. I did not bother looking up the study sources - feeling a bit holiday lazy.

- ill ๐ŸŒธ





5 months ago. Dec 21, 2019, 10:09 PM










If there is only one thing in my life that I am proud of, it's that I've never been a kept woman.

~ Marilyn Monroe


Today's topic is brought to you by random messages from strangers in your inbox. The message was simple enough. There was a show of interest. Followed by an offer for an "allowance" per week and title of a sugar baby. Daily companionship was desired and a phone number was attached with the message that he needed me.

Not creepy, at all. เฒ เฒฟ_เฒ 


I am going to go out on a limb that there is more than just me receiving this message with one confirmed. If this person is genuine, let me be the first to say - change your game. Please. It is more likely this person is phishing and that this offer is possibly dangerous. It worried me that some ladies might fall for this because they desire this kind of lifestyle. No judgment. Please be safe when making this type of choice.


But of course, it got me to thinking about what it meant to be a "kept" woman. 

I had a stay-at-home mom. My father was a bit of a male chauvinist when it came to her working. She could get an education and elevate herself. He, however, was the breadwinner. She just managed the bread, the brood, and the household. My mother being there kept me on the straight and narrow - mostly - I was a spot of trouble in her days.๐Ÿค To be clear, I do not judge anyone's desire to care for the home and family, work to provide, or both as needed. 


This is an interesting topic to peel apart.

Wikipedia starts its definition as a woman who was maintained in a comfortable (or even lavish) lifestyle by a wealthy man so that she would be available for his sexual pleasure. This man is often, but not necessarily married. She is a mistress or consort. We know that the pronoun she should be eliminated as both men and women (identified or otherwise) can fit this definition in this day and age. How is it different to be kept in marriage or as a spouse? Outside of having your cake and eating it too (infidelity), this seems to be a very thin line. 


The D/s Dynamic of Being Kept

This line is also thin for a dominant and submissive. I'd imagine it would take a mountain of conversation for me to give up control over my ability to survive outside of the dynamic. Should I lose him to a consort or to life events, there is a strong need for me to protect myself from these vulnerabilities. A key reason why I do not do temporary play, I do not share, and I am not very open to online or long-distance play. While an offer to be provided for is enticing, there has to be more substance. Ther hs to be a physical aspect for me. I need to see his fase, gestures, micro-gestures, and work into his protocol.

That does not mean I would need to be kept/provided for as this would entirely depend on my dominant and the dynamic between us.

I would be interested to know your thoughts! 

- ill ๐ŸŒธ


5 months ago. Dec 17, 2019, 8:25 PM

What does it mean to be a hopeless romantic?

I thought as I perused his profile. As I soak in the gentle stare of his blue eyes, I wonder about the man behind them. My eyes trace over the strong structure of his face. His thin mouth pressed into a playful smirk revealing a dimple just beyond the reach his carefully manicured salty chestnut-amber beard. 


Why would we attach a negative notion to such a sweet thing?

I wondered. My eyes continuing to trace his beard line down to his strong neck. The hair disappears into a soft clear patch of sunkissed skin only to reemerge a few seconds later in a dense patch of curls peeking through his shirt. Well, he is a furry one, I think with a smirk on my own face. Images flash in my mind of fingers strolling through that patch. Maybe encountering a nipple or tattoo along the way? The tinge of a hot flash moved from my mind to my netherregion. Whew, down girl.


Would we not instead want to be hopeful in romance?

I mentally argued with myself. I assessed his style wondering if he picked the cap because the coral in the logo matched the coral in the well-fitting shirt. A bit of style as well, I giggled. Always coming back to the eyes, I wonder what is behind them. And why hopeless? Knowing my own story, I feel a tinge of despair at the pit of my stomach. Hopelessness is no stranger to me, I thought. What I would do to protect what is mine from that feeling, diving deeper into the void. I set aside the rugged farm-beau to pursue the thought.


Hopeful versus Hopeless Romantics ๐Ÿค

There is no shortage of articles on the web providing advice, and counter advice, on what type of romantic cog you are in this canned system. While I believe you should always be reflective and learn your inner workings, I'd recommend taking this advice with a pinch of salt. A human could induce a psychotic break trying to figure out if they are on the right or wrong side of romance. No need to traumatize yourself. The world sees sex and romance in a very specific way.

Personal Audit

I am a connoisseur of romantic comedies. These anecdotal escapes are often funny and endearing. They are a voyeuristic tap filling the half-empty glass with an overflowing dose of fantasy. Cynical much, you ask? Perhaps. I believe in love and romance as much as any other person. This belief has been beautifully ratified by the potential of experiencing it within a D/s bond. My palette is being refined I'd guess you would say. 

In one of my previous posts, I mentioned that we learn how to love and communicate from our environment. That environment also teaches us when to hold out on sex and intimacy to get what we want - dangling the carrot to move your cart. It is manipulative and in many instances so are these wonderful little escapes. A roadmap on the journey in the search for perfection which does not exist in reality.

We are in the midst of a renewed feminine spring! It is empowering and encouraging. While we inch ever forward, we must not forget our masculine counterparts. This journey should be taken together in solidarity and..... bondage. ๐Ÿฅฐ Preferably...


The Box

The box is the same regardless of how you identify. There is a box for everything. Choosing your truth over what is handed to you all your life is a daunting task. Undoing countless dollops of advice to find your most authentic self, takes time - maybe a lifetime. Undoing old knots to create fresh ones.

I know I am both a hopeful and hopeless romantic. This ebbs with my emotions. There are days when I take a more realistic approach. There are days when my hormones have gotten the better of me and I am less realistic. I try to stay centered somewhere in the middle. It is an unfair practice to place movie scripted romance goals on a partner. Punishing them when they cannot live up to those expectations is the result - or them punishing themselves. 


To my Dominant...

I think about who you might be all the time. What color your hair might be. The scent of you as you walk past me in a room. The tightness of your grasp. The serenity of your embrace. All of the pleasures you take from me I would give willingly. Know that I am here and I await your arrival in my life. No expectations. 

Come as you are.

- ill ๐ŸŒธ

6 months ago. Nov 8, 2019, 9:16 PM

I sent my profile into the void and thought - I cannot leave without saying farewell. It is a fond farewell. Likely, it is not forever. It is that time of year when time gets as tight as our pockets are light. Navigating the emotions of memories and seasons past. I tend to do a lot of reflection. This year has been full of emotion for me as I clawed my way out of the tomb of a life I created for myself. 



Reflection... a good thing. Taking all we experience into honest consideration is an avenue of growth. When we go through life chasing down those finely curated and boxed desires bespoke by the people that raised us or the media that fed us, we add all of these into our lifestyle repertoire. If you were like me, you chewed on the edge of that box until you broke a tooth. Along the way, you figure out that these are someone else's ideal - but what are yours? Of course, you also fuck-shit-up along the way. Reflection is that honest and holistic view of you. The one only you can see. Your tapestry. Your garden. Cutting off the vestigial parts is like pruning. You make way for the right seed to be planted.


Late Fragment

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
- raymond carver


Remember that it is not enough to identify what is rubbish. Waste should be removed, lest is become a burden to your life and mind. Reflection has taught me about my frailties and my resilience. It has also taught me that I am far too trusting upfront with these things. This tends to lead to great conversations and my investment in the person only to have them walk away. And while good riddance of bad rubbish, it takes a toll. You often lose something of value, if you are not careful. 


The Lost

Loss is one of those things that for some is as easy as a lesson. Assimilate and move on. How I wish I was that person. Loss comes with the mourning of some kind as mourning is not restricted to the deceased. It is a process assigned to a profound loss.

Loss of Love.
Loss of Limb.
Loss of Life. 

For over a decade, I've been swimming in the loss I accumulated over the course of my life. Things that should not only have been recognized but tossed out. I am mourning my loss of time. Time wasted on these things. Time spent beating myself up over things that were not my fault. 

Okay, maybe there were a few. ๐Ÿ˜



Reflection has taught me that I enjoy passion and creativity. The dominant male sexual prowess and the safety and security he offers is unparallel. It has taught me that I do not love myself nearly as much as I deserve. That my career is not my life. Change is not always a catalyst for evil. There is a good kind of solitude and a bad kind. Follow-through is everything. A solid mutual bond with my dom is of the highest priority. Neglect can come in many forms. It is okay to be afraid - just don't live there. 

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
-  john keats


These creative and passionate things I need to seek out and explore. Somewhere waiting for me is the dom who is the perfect fit for my garden. Together we will mend the fences and grow a bond like no other. 


I wish you all well over the course of the holiday season. Be good to one another. โค

-ill ๐ŸŒธ


6 months ago. Nov 3, 2019, 5:09 AM

If you said, pick up that guitar and talk to me - bonus points. ๐Ÿค˜
If not, well you can't always hang with the cool kids. ๐ŸŽธ


slut - /slษ™t/

Today's random shuffle track selection was S.L.U.T by Bea Miller. A positive spin on a rather gender-specific derogatory label. A bit of gender empowerment in a time when women are owning their shit. โœŠ Rock on girls. Embrace yourself. Love yourself. ๐Ÿ’– I love this song because it is funky and fun. The Raycons went in and the song went on repeat for a few cycles. The cat ran for cover under the bed as I sang along... at full tilt. ๐Ÿ™€ 


It is my staycation and I will sing if I want to... ๐ŸŽต


While it is on repeat, the other part of my brain is churning with questions. Dirty talk is a must-have skill for my Dom (where ever he might be). Visualization and fantasy make up an extremely high percentage of my arousal. His ability to insert himself into that place is essential. However, today I started questioning whether I enjoyed being called a slut. Do I really want to feel degraded? Do I believe I am a slut? What is a slut, really? The cat got lucky as I turned off the Spotify and googled. 


During erotic conversations here at The Cage, slut is very common as is cum-slut. Signaling to me that the master/dom I am engaged with is a degrader to some degree. Do I care if some asshat on the street calls me a slut because I won't give him the time of day? No. Not in the least. I know who I am. His opinion does not define me. So, do I enjoy being called a slut, then?


Well, that depends entirely on my Sir's ritual demonstration of choosing me - every day. Focusing on and enjoying what he loves about me. This shows me that he respects me and our bond. Nothing would bring me more mental pleasure than to give that man pleasure. If he desires me to be his slut in session, I will oblige him with bells on my nipples. Ring-a-ling. ๐Ÿ”” His actively choosing me every day makes it that much easier for me to choose him. In choosing him, it makes it that much sweeter a surrender. 


I suppose for each of us this definition is different. I'd love to hear your favorite dirties and do you even call it dirty talk? 
Share your thoughts in the comments!

- ill ๐ŸŒธ

7 months ago. Oct 15, 2019, 4:01 AM

That is the answer - not the question.

Identifying with my submissive tendencies has been a learning experience. It has helped me identify who I am more in one year than contemplation and reflection have in the last 10-years. It was like the coin dropped in the slot. This was the missing piece to my puzzle. All that is left on my agenda is to find the Dom that fits and start my journey in earnest. He is both crux and key. Without him, my self-discovery stalls.


Dom... Dom Dom Dom...Dommmmmm

One thing I could have learned much earlier is that not every dom is your Dom. To say the very least, not every self-proclaimed "dom" is a dom. The gambit of dom-blazons is interestingly scary. I can't say they are all predators. In the same way that subs need educating (which I am still working out myself), it would seem so do budding doms. Their expectations of what a submissive seems to be broadly misunderstood or flagrantly dismissed. I've seen several posts regarding how a "dom" has treated a potential sub before a partnership has even been formed. Before the sub has willingly submitted. I have also experienced the same thing. Most are just fuck-boys looking for a joy ride online. There are some that are scary and some that get bent out of shape if you speak your mind. No offense, but they come across weak to me. Lacking in what I could consider a proper dom.


The Good Ones

Men I qualify as true dominants have blown my mind. They are less than a handful but worth every moment of my time. I've laughed, cried, and felt the most intense sexual arousal of my life just talking with them. They are so much more than what I expected and have set my bar high when it comes to what I seek and honestly - expect - in a Dom. I learn from them. I want to hear their voices in my head. They relax me and I do not feel pressured to share anything unless I choose. 



I think I misspoke earlier when I said my self-discovery stalled. Coming to terms with my submissiveness is contrary to the way I have to lead my life. I have always survived. I've always had to care for myself. Trust has never been easy. My intention is not to have a Dom so as to have an identity through him nor is it to have my identity snatched from me because I desire to explore my submissive tendencies. There is a very strong desire to build a solid relationship based on trust and communication. From there, I could go anywhere with him. Explore everything with him. It would be a driving desire to please and pleasure. That would be the sexual icing on the cake. 


I need balance in my life. Pseudodoms cannot match that on a good day. Eh, they are sexually arousing because I am a female with a super high (extremely starved) libido. But, they are fleeting at best. Coming and going like the seasons. Good for a moment of fun but not sustaining. They are usually the epitome of why I do not trust men and thus could never fathom more than a blip with them. 


My dom, well he is the volcano at the center of my tempest. Together we are a force to be reconned with... but me always bending to his will. 


My suggestion is to know who your dom is so that you can weed out the weak.

- ill ๐ŸŒธ








11 months ago. Jun 16, 2019, 5:16 PM

The Japanese art of kintsugi teaches that broken objects are not something to hide but to display with pride.

- Stefano Carnazzi, Kintsugi: the art of precious scars


Isn't it always the way that we hide our imperfections? Some of us hide with masks. Others hide with modification. Hiding is as much denial and lying as it is acquiescing to the world that what we have no value. That who and what we are should be hidden away in a dusty box on a shelf for the family to find long after we are dead and gone. Many of them asking, why did she keep this anyway? What is its significance?


It always breaks my heart when I see someone who has to hide their uniqueness from the world. It makes me cry because I know that I have done the same. Our breaks are not the same. Each of us as humans are unique in our build and our experiences and thus our damage. While the world would pass its judgment on how we came to be and for us to conform to its box, I say you are exquisitely perfect the way you are.


Kintsugi has an opposite attitude attached to it, preserving a "tougher, fuck-you-collectivist-world-that-judges-against-my-imperfection value" instead. It's no sentimental poetry but a loud plead and declaration for change.

- The Antevasin, Comment on The Kintsugi; a haiku


Hindsight, I've always known I was broken. For the myriad of times, my mother has tried to put me back into that Stepford box or the same number of times my dad had to spout out the words she marches to the beat of a different drum in an effort to explain me away. My uniqueness was a scarlet letter for all to view. They did not know they were beating down my self-worth. They just thought they were correcting bad behavior. Doing what their parents would have done and probably did do to them. The only thing they knew at the time.

Yesterday was an all-out bad day for my brokenness which started Friday evening. Last week was a beast of a weak from a work perspective. At the end of the day, my body had all but given out. I wanted to go home and rest, but work needed me. It is in the weak and lucid moments like this that allow some of the more bottled emotions to ooze forth. The target was any feeling of self-doubt or self-worth. The target was found and I dropped my little irrational bombs all over the yard. 


Yes, irrational because there was simply no reason for me to go there. Though he was gracious enough, it leads me back to my own imperfections. I would flog myself with it within an inch of my own life. Brand it into my skin until there is no room left for a mark. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to my brokenness. I no longer need someone to tell me what is wrong with me as I have already told myself. Reminding myself that no one wants a girl with emotional baggage and that I would likely meet my end alone in the dark.


A very beautiful soul reminded me of my value last night. He gently insisted there was nothing wrong with me. Being broken was not being wrong. Crying was natural and beautiful. He explained that the right Dom would be sensitive to these moments. The pent up misdirected energy could be channeled through the session for release. He would guide me and protect me until the energy is spent. Receiving that which he desires, but releasing me from that which plagues my emotional life. Offering me a balance in return for submission. Acceptance for who I am now. 

During our long conversation where I argued my brokenness, it reminded me of Kintsugi. The art of precious scars. Instead of trying to erase who I am for the world, I want to reassemble the pieces into a stronger me. A more beautiful me. A fuck-you-collectivist-world-that-judges-against-my-imperfections me. It is a journey that will likely never end. My advice would be to find that dom that is mature enough to make that journey with you. One that will be there to sprinkle your scars with gold as you reassemble yourself. 


- ill ๐ŸŒธ