Damned blasted poet

Damned blasted poet

Always writing her emotions

Flooding us in her tears that have formed giant oceans

Drowning us in the waves of her heartache and despair

Throwing out disharmony without ever a care!

Is there no uplifting prose that she could ever write?

Or is everything we read about yet another fight?

Can she not write about the roses or the birds that sing in spring?

Can she not write about the weather or a shiny wedding ring?

Must she always write so dull about agony and pain?

Must she always fly above us and entrench us in the rain?

Damned blasted poet

I beg you stop your whimpers and your gripes

We love your prose and literature but please write other types!

Struggling inner poet

The strange thing about poetry is that it comes easily when one is depressed or feeling awkward or has some sort of intense emotion or overwhelm; it does not however, come easily without those emotions or states of mind.

This is what I have been struggling with lately. 

Perhaps my apathy has gone so far, that I have become emotionally dense somewhat.  Though personally I disagree, I have been having better days – though it’s rife with worry for my son.

I am struggling with my inner poet.

Something has happened where the poet in me has become stunted.

Until this shifts, as it must and someday might – I can’t write poetry day to day.

I don’t know how long this will last, but I hope not for long.

In the meantime, I have been thinking about flash fiction, that will probably come easier these days or my old snippet attempts, they may make a comeback!

For now, I have been sitting here on and off for days, trying to force poetry to no avail – I believe it is time to surrender!

Thanks for reading!

Nearly two days…

No posts for nearly two days? 

Why?

I had poetry up for scheduling, I wrote them six weeks ago, but they would make some readers feels I am in a bad place again emotionally and so I didn’t post them after all.

I did that because some readers care deeply about me and they would genuinely worry about me if they had seen those poems, thinking that the feelings were current and they are not.

Sorry about that, I have been trying to get around writing new things for the blog but I am a little preoccupied lately and I also have a bad cold and ear infection.

Thanks for reading!

The world has forgotten

We live in a world full of delicate flowers

That spit words out like bullets and knives

A confusion of emotions amongst us

Free talkers are victims of scythes

Dare not laugh at one thing

For another may offend

And dreams are only worth dreaming

If others recommend

We live in a world of snowflakes

That can’t take the bitter cold

That suppresses all its cousins

For being way too bold

And living life too happily

Now that is truly a sin

And how our world is becoming

It is becoming rather dim

The light right here is fading

The laughter has truly gone

I often worry about the future

And what will lie beyond

This world won’t be remembered

For its books are being burned

History will be forgotten

And all that we have learned

For we are going backwards

Back to the olden days

Where people weren’t allowed to party

And people were owned like slaves

For people are like thin papers

They cut you with their words

They change your mind quite readily

And lead you to the absurd

For people tread too lightly

In fear of all bad things

Because the world has forgotten

How to love, laugh and sing!

Losing the fight

One thing about me is I am good at not showing negative emotions.  Online it seems like I am a drama queen that I am suckered into my emotions and I go to dark places and I seem self-absorbed. 

Offline however, I hide it.  I hide myself when I am down so I don’t bring down others I am around.

I am an empath; I soak up energies of other people, even just by thinking about them I can kind of get a feel what’s going on in their lives.  So I respect that other people might be empathic too.

It’s a real hard adjustment living with someone who is as apathetic in life as I am; it’s like a prison of despair in a very real sense.

I never used to be like this.  I am trapped in depression because I am around apathetic or superficial people, or people who just seem unemotional a lot of the time.

I used to be such a happy Pollyanna type; those days seem very far away right now. 

I am getting to the point I am losing my strength to fight it and carry on, I am getting into a hopeless place.

Gradually over the months I’ve lost more and more of my appetite, to the extent I think soon I will not even bother to try and eat.  I have only just realised today that it’s actually probably due to depression that I can’t eat, because on the days I have been able to eat a little more, things have been a little lighter around me.

I am doing less and less as time goes by, it’s like I am a clockwork doll which is about to lose her energy at any moment and there is no one left to wind me up again.  Isolation has done that to me, isolation and a lazy superficial person I live with.

I needed Samaritans today, but I am deaf, I can’t speak on the phone – they don’t do text speech yet in my area apparently, but it’s coming soon…

Will it come soon enough?

I try to hide when I cry, I don’t like people seeing me like that, imagine how awkward it was for me when Henry walked in on me because I lost track of time and he came home from school and rushed to my bedroom to give me one of his ever increasingly rare hello hugs and instantly his smile became a face of concern. 

Guilt, that’s what hit me when I saw his face, cold hard guilt.

I had my hoodie up and I shielded my eyes but he is a smart boy, he wasn’t convinced when I faked a cold.

He demanded to know what caused it and hugged me as he became firm about getting to the bottom of it.

He left eventually. 

What bothers me is not that he caught me, but that his father came into the room just ten minutes before completely unfazed by how he found me.  He never asked any questions other than when I wanted dinner and was eager to leave again without battering an eyelid.  When Paul left, I got worse, because one of the reasons why I was upset was because I felt lonely and I felt no one could care if I were to die tomorrow.

To me, this proved it.

No one but Henry would.

Perhaps I am selfish, perhaps I am a drama queen – perhaps tomorrow I will snap out of it?

Perhaps!

But right now, I am losing heart to try anymore. 

I am tired of broken dreams, broken promises, and snapshots of a better future without any proof or real taste of it.  I am tired of the lies; I am tired of people using me as a pawn in a game.

I am tired. 

Thanks for reading…

Bleak to positive

I’m trying my best to try and think of more positive things lately, it is actually harder than I thought it would be and that is a huge contrast to the person that I used to be; I was often considered a bit of a Pollyanna – if you don’t know who Pollyanna is, Pollyanna is a little girl who always found something good about things that happened until one day she had an accident and couldn’t walk anymore and she found it hard to find anything good to say and the people she shone her light on – all came in mass to remind her of her old way of thinking when she was in her darkest hour.

For the past nine years I’ve suffered from very bad depression bought upon initially by illness and then extreme poverty, around 2015 I had my first true thoughts about suicide and have been struggling with them ever since.

I am trying to find the old me again as it is very clear in the near future, I will be moving out of this home and into a new one and hopefully things will be a little better for me emotionally.

I still have no date for that yet, but I know it will be coming before the end of the year at least, Paul is determined and Henry has resided himself to the fact that he wants to stay with his father and not follow me, because he doesn’t want to make new friends in a new school.

Wherever I go, they have to tolerate a house rabbit, because Ray is coming with me too – because I am the only person who gives him any attention and he would literally pine to death without me!

He is 5yrs old and a dark grey Dutch, so dark in fact you’d mistake him for black, he has dark blue eyes and loves reggae, gardening shows, rugby and Peter Rabbit – seriously he has his favourite types of music and TV shows, he is a house rabbit after all. 

I can’t eat a banana without sharing it with him; he gets grumpy and throws his food bowl at me!  He can be quite violent when affronted!

He needs neutering because he stinks.

Well anyway, there are still dark days to get over and when I have those days I tend to write dark and morbid poetry – but I am trying to break it up and space it out, so sometimes when the poems are being published, I may not actually be having a bad day at all, it may have been days or weeks ago.

I haven’t had a major depression bout for over a week now, but I am slowly slipping into it again as tonight I have been feeling on the verge of tears and being quiet and sleepy, but I am not sure what bought it on.  But at least I am not suicidal tonight.  I am just a bit dozy and I suppose sulky due to loneliness.

I am writing these words at 2:30am on the 19^th February 2023, this will be published in the afternoon – again, to space things out a bit.

Sometimes when I get writing specifically for my blog, I tend to write three to five poems all at once and about two or three diary updates and it would really annoy my readers if they got all of this one day and then just one tiny poem for a few days after.

So I space things out.

I am trying really hard to think about things that are not bleak – anything really so not to focus on the dark thoughts, because I am trying hard to push my old life away for a brand new one, that I believe is very close to coming to me and it’s going to be amazing but terrifying!

Seriously terrifying – but you know what?  I heard Mel Robbins a motivational speaker say once, that psychologists have proven than fear and excitement are formed from the same chemicals in the brain, they are in fact the same thing and you can trick yourself into believing your fear is excitement quite easily, so you don’t panic so much!

So when you are frightened, just think to yourself – it’s all so very exciting – I am excited – let’s do this!

So yes, I am terrified but it’s exciting…

Do you think I am ready for the nut house yet?

Thanks for reading!

Flux to Fluck?

I am in a flux today.

I am experiencing deep depression and high motivation and there is no real in-between.

On one hand I feel extremely down and tearful and struggling to even think that I’d get to April and on the other I feel pumped to exercise and morph my body over a time into how I really want it to be.

I’ve been staring in a mirror for months trying to see myself through other people’s eyes and occasionally I see something, but then I move my head a certain way and the ugly comes back to haunt me.

So, exercise raises endorphin levels when you do it after a time, but it’s getting the will to get up and just move today that’s eating at me.  Because I just want to hide under my fleece blanket and cry about things, cry deeply – I’m wearing hoodies a lot lately to hide the fact I’m crying so much to other members of the household.

They really haven’t noticed, perhaps my friend is right – I’d be a good actress?  Who knows!

When I have got used to never dreaming because things never happen for me, someone comes along and tells me that life is soon to be great and it’s like another tease.  More disappointment for the future and more broken dreams and an even more shattered heart – that’s the forecast for me I think.

I used to be a positive person, a Pollyanna and I used to tick people off with my ray of sunshine and words of encouragement – it’s like someone was bothered by it so much they’ve cursed me!

I’m told regularly, I will have great things because I have a great talent and this person and that person likes you – it’s all bullshit really, because I haven’t seen these people tell me things.

There are lots of talented people in the world who don’t have those great things – I’m not the only one and it’s not things that I want.  It’s love.

A few rich men haven’t got that into their thick heads yet – they think they can seduce me with things, but they can’t.

Why are the simplest things in life so hard to obtain?  A persons time, snuggles; words of love, support and encouragement, a good time and a laugh without judgement?

A tactile relationship that feels real and not based on lies and broken promises, a relationship where we encourage each other, instead of one of us being a sponge and draining the life out of the other in order to make the other one feel better?

I know I have had a life of abuse, but it sounds strange to roll this off the tongue, but I was always a happy kind of person, known for being bubbly and friendly and since I’ve moved here slowly and steadily I am being drained of life.

I remember before I moved here that I could never imagine the day I’d die, I was scared of death and wanted to be immortal – but now I crave death.  It’s so contrast!

My willpower for survival is weakening.

Paul told me the other day that when a problem used to occur when I first moved in and I wasn’t moved by it and stayed relaxed and the same, that it bothered him, frustrated him even.  Now, whenever there is a problem I am at the complete opposite end of the spectrum, where a problem can become a huge drama quite quickly and it’s a big contrast and he thought that I’d be more supportive and take it more seriously, but instead it’s made me fall apart.

I know why.

When I lived with my parents, emotions were not tolerated if it made a person loud or unmanageable and unproductive. 

When I came here, it’s ok to be loud, shouting, ranting and raving at the slightest problem and to not let go.

I’m a huge empathic sponge, I soak up the energies of people around me and become like them – I’m a spiritual chameleon of sorts.  This is why it’s essential I remove myself from this environment somehow, but it’s difficult when the energies around me are apathetic, depressed, defensive and aggressive.

On the rare occasion a visitor comes who is of lighter energy, it rubs off me quickly and I feel like the old me again – their energy can boost me for a couple of days in fact, but it never lasts.

I remember having such high energy when I first moved in that I drained Paul instead.  Paul looked awful and exhausted all the time.  Because I was always on my feet, being bubbly, finding joy in the smallest thing like a child in a candy store, no matter what happened in life – everything was like a novelty to me and it was.

Because I rarely got to choose anything and go out when I lived with my parents.

I had comments from Paul that I looked at the world in childlike wonder and innocence and that I was so excitable, he kept telling me to slow down, calm down, sit down, lie down, everything had to come down.

Till I emotionally fell down and can barely get up with the weight of it all.

Words can’t describe how I truly feel – all of this feels like intense whining of a bitter heart who hates the world for the joy it has because she hasn’t got it.  Jealous slurs, that’s probably what you’re thinking about this post right now.

If you aren’t thinking that, then I apologise.

Art would show the world more of what I feel inside, but then again I can’t use my art table right now can I?

I really miss doing art.

I think the reason why I look younger than forty is because as tragic as it sounds I cry so much my tears sometimes dry on my face and make it feel taut after a while.  Like now, my face feels tight because the tears have dried.

I try to keep my sense of humour and find something to laugh about, which is part of the manic depression I have.  One minute extremely low and playing with sharp objects near my wrists and then the next moment cracking jokes about my darkness.

I might be depressed but with the tear treatment at least it keeps me young.  It’s a little light, but still gloomy and incredibly pitiful.

But that’s where I am today.

No in between – motivated to exercise and cry my heart out at the same time whilst being at my most deeply creative. 

Lack of sleep, slept four and a half hours again last night, my average for the past few weeks actually.

Motivated to exercise because I saw a glimmer of hope in the mirror the other day that I could look exactly like Diana Dors (Diana Mary Fluck) my main idol after all!  Just dye the hair, tone up and lose around forty pound and yes, I can see its possible I could be like her…

Maybe someday I will get myself out of this dump and sell my work and get myself a red dress covered in rubies and diamonds and wear a pretty wine coloured faux fur shrug with a silk ribbon?  Maybe someday I can walk in high heels without looking like a rookie tranny and actually be elegant and swan like?

Or maybe someday I will be found in a pile of my own poems covered in blood and white as snow, cold and still like ice and maybe my finders will publish my work for me and I will become posthumously famous?

Sods law that.

Thanks for reading…

About my poetry

This post is not about bragging.

But to those who will read it, no doubt you will have your suspicions that it is a sort of act of boasting.

However, it should be said.

No poem on this blog has ever been revised or made into second drafts etc. and no poem in this blog was pained over for hours on end.

There, said it.

Most of my poems are done in less than twenty five minutes, first draft, scheduled or published online immediately without a second thought and I can only recite one poem I have ever written.

Food for thought, isn’t it?

It’s one of those reasons why I am not a member of any poetic clubs; I am not welcomed because I can push out three to five poems an hour without aching over the words I should produce.

It just naturally flows.

I was astounded to find some poets online take weeks to finish a piece, I personally couldn’t do that and I think it goes to show who is more dedicated to their craft.  They are – I wouldn’t faff around like that over one poem.

I live for the current emotion, it is the current emotions that drive the poetry I don’t want to hang on most of those emotions for weeks on end, good Lord I really would commit suicide if that was the case and at the moment I am only tiptoeing at the edge of it.

It took me about an hour and a half to write one poem once, the longest ever.

I do delete poems never to share them, this happens about twice a week, so you’re losing around a hundred to a hundred and fifty per year, because I am embarrassed to share the depths of my emotions at times.

Sometimes I preschedule poems for months in advance whilst I think about deleting them – at the moment there are seven whose future is as obscure as mine.

Nobody believes I can write that fast until they see me in action, offline. 

Then they accuse me of boasting.

But they did challenge me!

I will sit there and ask them, pick a subject and I will think about it for two or three minutes, to get my mind into the zone of that subject and how I feel about it and then the words pour out and the poem is done within minutes.

I can write a poem about anything, so long as it doesn’t feel like a lie to my heart.  For example, I couldn’t write a poem which is supposed to be a love song for Hitler – I hate fascists!

So that’s not a poem I could write.

But I could write one about cutting his balls off and feeding them to him, no matter how disgraceful that would be and inelegant.

That’s not an invitation for requests by the way!

I find it hard to write more than three poems a day, though I have been known to do up to ten.

I try to force myself to do at least one per day, if I live to a hundred imagine a future publication of all my poetic works, how many volumes could that possibly be?

Thing is, I haven’t a clue what I am doing poetically.

I have never been formally educated about it, I can’t tell a poem from a rhyme to a sonnet etc. – for all I know they could be the same thing but fancy names!

I do know what a haiku is though and I used to write them.

In fact talking of sonnets, I have been seriously thinking about reading a book to learn about those.

One of my dreams is to be patient enough with my poetry that I could actually write a poem as long as Shakespeare, Christina Rossetti and Edmund Spenser.

I have often thought about creating a large poem which is a story like Edmund Spenser’s Fairy Queen – that would be amazing if I could do something like that.

That would take me months, could I do it on an emotional level? 

I have often thought about challenging myself to do it!

I originally wrote the first chapter of a fantasy story in rhyme, with that very intention; but I couldn’t hold it throughout the story – it’s still in progress after nine years, but I haven’t added a thing to the project since 2015.

It’s about gargoyles protecting the heart of a young maiden who lives in the house they protect.

It’s a dark fantasy and very macabre, it’s sort of like Edgar Allen Poe meets Hans Christian Andersen.

I have a couple of online friends who have made the suggestion that I should go on stage and read my poems out there, but I won’t do that.

Why?

Because hilariously as it sounds, I don’t actually regard myself a poet yet!

Yet this is probably what I am best known for.

At the moment I am having a very poetic night – I am thinking about poetry a lot and I am frustrated that a book I have ordered from EBay is two weeks late in the post and I had to put in a complaint about it.

I want to finish the book and do the essays in it to learn what I am doing.  Unfortunately the library is fed up with me re-borrowing that book, I’ve had it a total nine weeks this last borrowing session and it’s the second time in a year I did that, having it for about eighteen weeks in total for the whole year!

I wish it would come soon!

It’s where some of my poems I’ve posted on here has been inspired by, such as “Grief”, “Brent Cross Shopping Centre” and “Lessons from life”.

Anyway, if that’s bragging I apologise!

Thanks for reading…

Romance with death

So many things are taking up space in my mind over the past few days; I am finding it hard to concentrate on anything but emotional presence, which is strange because I usually try to avoid acknowledging my emotions as much as possible, or at least as minimal as possible.

I don’t really know much about meditation other than what I have learned in books and on YouTube.

I have never had a guided meditation – so I don’t really know if the meditation I did a few days ago called “Who am I”? Has anything to do with it, but it’s a strange coincidence if it hasn’t.

When I am not drifting off into trance-like stupors losing twenty minutes a time, I try to sit and focus on writing something for my blog or towards my stories or reading a book, only for me to be absorbed yet again in my emotions.

There is a voice at the back of my head telling me that I need to go through this process as it is healing me in preparation for something big coming into my life.

If I want to cry, do it – but I still try to hold back.

I never did get into the crying yoga I said I was interested in – I kind of know deep down it is something I need… but I still hold back.

I often try not to be emotionally present so it is all new to me.  I try to shut away my emotions into a coffin, put it into a wardrobe and throw the wardrobe into a lake tied up with ropes and rocks so I don’t remember them… until a drought comes at least.

Not that I fly tip or anything, I am being metaphorical – some people can take things too seriously!

I think there are some readers out there that takes me too seriously too – sometimes when my depression kicks in and I make all these creative works of poetry, I sometimes sit back and laugh at how tragic I was for those moments and I feel stupid and slightly embarrassed by yet another emotional outburst. 

I think it is good for you to know that sometimes when I have got it all out creatively, I do laugh at myself – because of how pathetic I come across.  Some days though, I am quite serious and often think about death very seriously after writing such things… but a good third to near half of the time I find humour in my tragedy, like some kind of sad clown story.

I do see myself as a pitiful sad clown a lot of the time.  The kind of clown that will sit in the grey in dirty dusty clown clothes, with a black cone hat and grey pom poms on it, sitting miserably alone in their own grey tragedy – then suddenly opens the door of their house to jump off the cliff that’s waiting just beyond the threshold only he is saved by a rainbow bridge and whilst he is standing on that rainbow bridge he magically transforms into a colourful rainbow clown and laughs at his own sorrow and skips off down the curve of the rainbow to play with the faeries!

Well that’s how I visualise myself anyway.

Dark sense of humour at times!

But you have to admit though, the depths I go, the sarcasm at times, the irony etc. – I see myself as ironic, my humour is definitely ironic and I know because I have been told multiple times that my humour is lame – but you’ve got to admit, sometimes it’s funny?

Was never meant to be, but boy I can get too deep at times cant I? Its almost like a romance with death and despair!

Well, if I didn’t laugh I’d cry and which one is better eh?

I’m trying so hard not to be a Sylvia Plath, not going down her route.

However, my depression is very real.  Have no doubt about that.

Thank you for reading… 

Emotionally promiscuous

One thing about me and my poetry is that sometimes I have relapses.

There might be nothing negative going on in my life at all at the time, but then I sit back and I think about something and the old fears come back to haunt me.

What’s worse about all of it is how lonely I am and isolated.  How I haven’t got anyone to really care or love me as pathetic as it sounds.  It’s worse because not only am I needy, I am emotionally promiscuous (though a good girl generally) lol and confirmation bias.

I don’t whine, it’s not my nature.  I am a considerate depressant.

I try to stay happy for people around me; I try not to sap their energy.  I literally shut myself away in a room of my own and absorb myself in gloomy poetry giving you the misconception that this must be my personality – some tragic depressant who mopes around all day looking glum and ugly.

But it’s not true.

I’m one of the happy go lucky people who walks around like some kind of summer camp rep so nobody really knows what’s going on inside me, unless they live with me and catch me out!

I do everything I can to make life a happy place for others, I live for others, I am not motivated by my own selfish needs – this is why I found it essential for me to be “in the lifestyle” (BDSM lifestyle, specifically TPE).

That kind of lifestyle makes me motivated to do things consistently, because my partner or Master as they are usually known, will ensure I don’t have time to think and dwell or makes me utterly focus on them and their needs and expectations. 

I don’t mean to sound horrible or anything, but I wasn’t depressed before I moved in with Paul, my depression was diagnosed at a hospital when Henry was around five months old as being post-natal depression, which I found was wrong because I had absolutely no negative feelings for Henry; Just going through a bad patch with my mum and getting down in life in general because of the state of the house.  I explained this to them, but they wouldn’t have it.

I was at the hospital because of chronic heartburn being mistaken for a heart attack, by the way – at the time my blood pressure was sky high and still hadn’t regulated after the birth!  103 over 145 I think it was at the time!

I was hospitalised regularly with blood pressure and extreme morning sickness when I was pregnant with Henry, morning sickness was so bad I lost approximately thirty pounds in weight before he was even born!

Anyway, I digress…

The fact of the matter is – my poetry sometimes seems aimed at people specifically but it’s not.  People from my distant past maybe and fears about possible reoccurrences in the future in new people – but most of the time, it’s just current bouts of fear and uncertainty.

I’m scared you see.

I’ve given myself a time line, that if something hasn’t drastically changed in my life by April (and I don’t mean career wise, I mean on a personal level), then I think I am likely to do something stupid.

Because I’ve had enough of not getting any sort of comfort, love, security, health, warmth and happiness.

With this to be considered first things first – I will reluctantly try and get into the lifestyle again around the end of March to test the water and see what’s available for a forty year old – not much I know, a submissive should be between 21 and 30 by most master standards, especially if they want to have a family, like I do.  I may extend my deadline to the end of May, depends.

But generally in my past, when I’ve been on those sites I’ve found someone and moved in with them in less than a month – I’ve always moved fast in relationships, I am impulsive like that!  But I have to consider I am fourteen years older than I was the last time I was on there and overweight, with a tooth missing and no professional qualifications or good health to inspire a new master to take me on.

Especially not in the roles I was used to at the time – I was a consensual slave, not a submissive – a vast difference and I was always involved in what they call a princess slave role, an alpha slave girl of a poly household – this meant I was trained to keep other girls in line, because I can switch.

Thing is, it’s difficult if there are masters who switch too, because I find it difficult domming a master who I love and respect, in a humiliating way.  In a passive way, fine, like letting them suck my toes and worship my body etc. – but the whole spitting on them and that I can’t do – because I respect them too much!

I also had daddy dominants, I am very playful by my very nature and never really grew up – but I am not infantilised if you understand me?  But I can roleplay really well!

I was also a kitten girl for a time too, but that’s pretty boring as you are animalised and aren’t expected to be human.  I liked reading books and the master I had back then found it amusing I wanted to read, and relented occasionally to giving me books to read inside my cage.  Yes I had a cage.  I was a part time live out kitten girl. 

Boring for someone who thrives on chores, cooking, cleaning, shopping, ironing etc. -I am very domestic! 

I don’t do well in vanilla (normal) relationships because my partners get annoyed at me constantly asking their opinions on things – which dress should I wear today?  What should I eat?  What should I do today?  I am perfectly happy to hand that level of control over to a person – depending on how healthy it is and safe Etc. 

I was very sought after before I moved in with Paul because I hadn’t very many limits and I am a pain slut, as they call them, women who find pleasure with certain types of pain.  Most of my limits were due to medical reasons, or squeamishness that resorted to play not being very fun!  Or anything that triggered my PTSD, such as humiliation – that’s a hard limit!  I’m a praise worth, I function better with praise, attention and tenderness.

Around the right people my confidence can bloom or crash, depends on them and depends on circumstances, with the right people I feel as though I can do anything and I can become a bit of a daredevil if I feel, safe, loved and protected!

I don’t like masters who like breaking people down to rebuild them, I like the kind that wants the best from a charge and always thinks the best for their charge, the kind that see their good girls as precious and when they are bad they will know it!

If I am lucky to find someone before May, I’ll live – but my blog may be closed, depends on the master.  I surrender completely to the right ones.

If not, I can’t guarantee I’d want to carry on to be honest.

I am getting older; all I want is love, a family, a purpose.  As I said I am never motivated for myself and there is no incentive to stay here, I am not needed here with Paul.

But it’s scary because a new master could do anything and I will tolerate a lot until I think things are too unsafe.  I really don’t want to come back to Paul again, but he is my safety net – he’s promised.

I was sought after for another reason too – I don’t need micromanaging like most!  I have a brain, I use it and I have been trained to determine what the master wants, because I pay attention!  I ask a lot of questions, which isn’t always ideal for most – but the good ones appreciate it, because they know I am trying to make an effort to understand them and adjust for them.

Another of my limits is, I won’t submit to women – absolutely not!  They can submit to me however, but never try to make me less than the best female in the room!

I have a jealous heart and I like being smug and precious.

So shoot me, guilt trip me, do whatever you want – but I am proud to be me!

I know you will miss me if I find someone who doesn’t like me blogging and I know the world will lose what you call “a talent”, but hopefully I will be happier.

Who knows?

There are a lot of bad masters out there, I know…

Just felt I needed to explain myself is all!

This is why I like men with big egos, smart, social, virile and sarcastic – pure heaven if they are into the lifestyle and have a knack for motivating others in a positive, robust and fun and patient kind of way!

Thanks for reading!