Sub-Space Hell

They Say:

Be safe, be sane, be consensual..



But do they know?

How hard it is to always know?

I listen intently to them.

Their words seem like wisdom.

And yet, I trust him.



This obsession of mine,

Once didn't exhist.

It was a thought,

Until he came and let me free.

But now,

Now I must bare the responsibility.

He is in my care.



I cannot express this feeling.

So tied up, bound, and gagged.

Like a submissive on a bad day,

I'm falling at the seems.



If I cannot control myself,

How can he trust me?

Should I remain this way,

I would release him into safety.



Every change I may make,

I know that it must be for me.

He is who he is,

And I can only train.



These ideals that they all preach of,

What value do they have?

Can they tell me how to be,

Do they dominate over my life?



Is someone ever really on top?

Could it be that they are to stuck,

To realize that they are on bottom,

Another, more experienced exceeds them.



My mind spins around,

All night thinking this over.

He trusts me yes,

But I see myself doing this wrong.

How can I be making him happy?



So who's rules are we playing by?

And why do they change so much?

I cannot execpt that this is reality,

But I guess it's better than sub-space.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i couldn't do it, not if i tried... maybe lightly... but *shiver* crazy article makes me feel sad...

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Starward's picture

This is a brilliant treatement of the issue. I, too, have been researching it just a bit for a historical project that I am working on, and I have found some of the justifications of the practice (as well as the descriptions of the process) bone-chilling, to say the least! Your poem has helped to focus my own understanding of the issue, and for that I thank you!


Starward

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