PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I was different before I knew why,

a restless soul with nowhere to belong.

Too young to understand the darkness,

too lost to know what was wrong.

The Gorean path gave me a name— Kajira.

But then came the devil

who stripped away everything I was.

My name.

My identity.

My rights.

My voice.

I was a child who never had a choice.

I ran from the hands that controlled me,

but freedom felt foreign to my soul.

I'd spent so long without a voice,

I felt lost without someone in control.

And sometimes, even now,

I crave that familiar surrender—

still trying to understand

what was taken and what I freely choose to give.

In my twenties, another door opened.

BDSM taught me submission could mean more.

Then came the brat—

the fire that refused to die.

The playful rebellion,

the defiance in my eyes.

Sometimes I push for a reaction.

Sometimes I'm silently screaming—

Notice me.

See me.

Understand me.

Help ground me when my mind won't be still.

I've spent years questioning

where the hell I belong.

Am I still a Kajira?

A submissive?

A brat who's been searching all along?

But don't mistake my surrender

for weakness dressed in collars and chains.

There's a difference between giving up control

and having your choices taken away.

I'm still becoming,

still searching through the darkness within.

Learning where my past ends

and where my own choices begin.

My submission demands

communication,

dedication,

vulnerability,

and trust.

I was once forced into silence.

Now I have a voice.

I do not kneel because I am powerless.

I kneel because I am powerful enough to choose.