At times, i question my ability to be physically and mentally strong enough to endure This. This is

At times, i question my ability to be physically and mentally strong enough to endure This. This is nothing short of a roller coaster. And sometimes it feels like the security latch has released during the ride; i do my best just to struggle to hang on long enough for it to come to rest. i’ll be the first one to admit that i crave the crack of a whip, a smack on the ass, a fuck in my throat, a toothpick piercing my nipple, a banana shoved in my ass, a mango sucked from my pussy, or any other depraved ideas You conspire to use against me. i LOVE pain and You know that, but there are times when i need You. There are times when i find my soul at it’s knees and it’s not in position to serve, but desperate for Your attention. i need You to recognize that.When i grow silent in This, lumps form in my throat that are difficult to swallow. They hit my spine so hard that the tremors cripple me for days and i drown in the tears building up inside me that i fight just to drain. i trust You Sir…more than i will ever understand… more than You will ever believe, and probably more than i will ever put into someone else of human form ever again. i put my heart and soul in the confines of Your hands. i relinquish all power over to You, giving You the chance to break me, but hoping You won’t.There are benefits of not knowing me, but there are also downfalls. i’m going to fail You, it’s in my blood. i will make You hate me. It’s not a goal, it’s inevitable. i just need to know that You’re willing to give second chances and not in the form of silence. i will give You more than i will take for myself. NOT because it’s my job, but because i wouldn’t have it any other way. i’m my own worst enemy, and i don’t need an accomplice. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but the ache from those bones hurt far less than the failed words You let me dangle on.You seem to have this gift that can convince me of being defective beyond repair. i grow immorally fragile at these times and Your silence rips me in half, making me feel like i’m unworthy of ever being whole again. You make it hard to function without You. i become like some shattered doll scrummaging around the floor trying to pick up her own pieces and glue them back together. my mind running on exhausted fumes just trying to find them all. It’s as if i become so adamant on feeling the first taste of what it feels like to be complete again, that i overlook the most vital pieces it requires to do so. i then construct myself into some heaping pile of broken glass with glue still oozing out of the sides; a product that looks like it was made at the hand of a three year old. An organized assortment of debris that was spent hours putting together but looks like it took no more than a minute. The kind of art that can be determined in quality by the look on the parents face when the child presents it. They want to laugh, but a reluctant sense obligates them to tell the three year old how beautiful it is in hopes of never crushing their dreams. i’d rather be Your messy refrigerator art, no matter what kind of condition i’m in, because that still means i’m Yours and You’re still proud to have me. Copyright 2013 © youryounglady -- source link

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