Beautiful Stranger

He is still, still as night
Silent, pondering
Looking deep within himself

Where is he?

Art by Ozana Muzka

The beautiful stranger
With the beautiful darkness
I hunger for

He is quiet, relaxed, at ease

He does not see me

He is lost in his own quiet thoughts, as I slip on by, into his mind so deep

There is he

The beautiful stranger

With the beautiful darkness

I hunger for

His silence mesmerizes me

I wonder,

As I wander

In to his mind so deep

Who is he?

That beautiful stranger

With the beautiful darkness

I hunger for

His silence is broken

by something unknown to me

Something unseen 

I lower my eyes, did he realize

That I got lost in his mind

Searching out

Searching for

That beautiful stranger

With the beautiful darkness

I hunger for

The Want of Needing More.

Finding pleasure in pain

pain in the pleasure

Moving away

no need to embrace

One quick tug, one quick taste

Gone with the sleight of hand

the sleight of grace

The fear is there

it is near...

Feeling the uncertainty, it is so unclear

Quick and sharp

stinging and throbbing

So much pain, yet pleasure

So much pleasure, yet pain

Going and gone

longing for more

Then without warning

a sting, sharp and throbbing

each lash becoming longer and stronger

Wanting and craving

Needing and bagging

Stop, go, stay, get away, comeback

Sure and needy, wanting more

Begging and pleading, needing more

Sleight of hand

Sleight of grace

Quick and sharp was replaced

Standing still, knelling, crawling

gazing glassy eyes

wondering why

Here than gone

than back again, kneeling, pleading and bagging for more.    

Why! In the Form of a Poem.

Question ask by Sir. What do you like about the pain, why do you crave it? What is it about the pain? How can you describe the feelings you have when being afflicted with pain? I will add that pain and humiliation go hand and hand for me.

I get a twisted sense of satisfaction,

I derive a strength unlike any other

I know I can be pushed.... and I like that.

I like the look I get from him,

 the depth in his eyes,

 the grin on his face,

 his satisfaction .

I like knowing that he can take me there,

as no other can...

And it hurts,

the words,

as well as the pain

but with each strike I feel the power surge in me.

When he uses me,

he takes what he wants...

he calls me names that I would never allow another.

I feel the power surge in me.

The energy.

You would think the energy would be a negative one

but it is not...

it is of power,

it is of strength.

It does not define who I am

but redefines who I could be.

I let go,

I become as I grow

I am challenged to how much I can bear...

I am pushed and the more I take the stronger I become.

I am not weak,

I am not nibbled of mind,

I know who I am, and that with certainty...

I would never change, I will only grow and become

the women I was born to be.  

Coming to Terms With Choices

There is a painting on my wall, it is blue and that is all.

Unfinished,

  looking for that touch,

  the emotion of the artists.

The artist ponders the painting on the the wall,

wonders, what is next, should the artist take the digression and change it all

but the blue is so nice,

the shades drift in out of each other..

meeting to make a serene place to fall.

The artist...looks and ponders more,

  if she changes the painting,

  if she adds more,

  if she puts mountains

  or the sea..

  maybe birds dancing..

  maybe butterflies laughing...

then maybe she will mess up the beautiful blue

 and the blue would no longer drift

 in and out, out and in of each other

 then there wouldn't be anywhere to fall.

There is a painting on my wall, it is blue and that is all.