I really want a sub tonight.

To violate, to hurt, to order.

Frustrating.

Tonight I want to fuck.

I dont want to have sex, I just want to fuck. Nice and rough and violent and non personal.

Feeling violent, horny and like a whole lot of restriction play.  Frustrating. I really need to remedy this whole 'lack of a masochist to play with' thing.

Right now I really really want a masochist to fuck up.  blah.

Could really really go for some girl play right about now.

Love is not the taste of a burning brick wall. Love is not bruises the size of your thumb on my arms, my neck, my face, my dignity. Love is not possession. I am not a possession. I am strong.
                One year and more tears than you ever deserved. I look at my skin and still see your marks, I am not the victim you made me. When your obsession forced you on me and I begged you to stop, when you swore, spat , raped your insults. When you took me. When you crushed me into the bed and the only way I knew I was still alive was because I was still hurting where you aimed your hatred between my legs.
                I am not the demon you made me. I am not the evil you tried to convince me to see in me. I am not a victim.
                I am a perpetrator to a crim eof stupidity and insanity. I am guilty of being weak, of being blind, of being dumb. I saw, spoke, heard no evil but your evil raged inside and on me.  
                I can still taste it in my breakfast, in my darkness. I still taste the first night you threw me to the ground and the tiles had never felt so cold.
                I do not hate you. I will never hate you. I hate myself. I hate what I made you. I hate what i made us because it does take two to tango and I started the dance. But I tried to stop it and you stepped on my toes and held me so close I died in your arms.
                But I am not a victim. You are not a demon. We are just fools in a game that we should never have played.
                Love is not the taste of my own blood when you smashed my head into my car window. No. We, were not in love. But I loved you.
                I do not hate you.
                I hate myself.  But that will not define me. That will not be my siren song as I age and grow and learn and live and laugh. I will learn to love myself for all my beauty. For all the lessons that I’ve learned under the foot of your dictatorship. I will love myself for all the lessons I have learned lying awake and wondering, wondering where I went wrong. I love myself for learning, I am not wrong.
                Because there is nothing wrong with me. I am damaged, I am insane, I do not sleep at night, and when I do, I dream of demons. But there is nothing wrong with me. I am strong.
                I am capable. Capable of overcoming the fear you struck into me, the fear I struck into myself so I won’t flinch anymore when a man raises their hand.  I have learned to love myself. Even when I hate myself, I have learned to love myself for the beauty others can see in me, when sometimes my judgement is too clouded by insecurities that I think all I am is a mass of internal, external ugly. I cannot be trusted with myself. But you can trust me.
                Because I, under this mess of language and poorly constructed prose, am me.
                And I, just like every other man woman, boy or girl, am amazing.
                And to my demons: you cannot have me.