This is the love I know

A loveless love, a convenient love, an after dark, occasional weekend away kind of love. It’s a love I like, a love I love.

Don’t pity me because I have love at arm’s length. This love gives me a radius of love in abundance, a love for whichever direction I choose to face, a love suited to match whichever feeling, want, and need that I’d like in any moment.

A nameless love, quiet, waiting in the shadows. A keycard love, a backseat love, a £3 a minute love. A judgeless love. A let’s tell all our secrets, turn the sound off, be present, kind of love.

A love where I can be the best version of me, the version of me you like, the version of me you love.

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Waiting

I let myself in and leave my bag at the door. I undress down to my underwear as per your request and kneel in my corner. Waiting.

All my senses are enhanced. My hearing attuned for any nuance of your presence, listening as you take steps on the floor above me, listening as the staircase creeks, my mind floundering and sense of time is lost.

Eyes fixated on the wall, watching for any hint of shadow. I’d close them but the quiet only grows louder, deafeningly so.

Sniff for any hint of your scent, your own signature smell traced with perfume. Panting and savouring the air like wild kittens do.

You see me and I hear a small hint of approval. Looking fiercely at the same point on the wall trying to find some composure, holding my hands tighter behind my back while a gentle graze of acknowledgement against my neck and down my back paints goosebumps over every etch of my skin.

You blindfold me and get yourself a drink. You sit down from across the room and watch me. You take my vanity and leave humility in its place as you watch my hands restlessly fidget behind my back, watch the curves of my body, watch me want you to want me.

I can feel your hunger for me fill the room. Black lace growing wet, my heart pounding in my chest, my palms mimicking what’s between my legs. Growing impatient. I want your touch, I want your attention, I want you.

Waiting isn’t a punishment, nor is it forlorn. It is an intrinsic foreplay for you know me well. You know that under my cute short blonde hair, my head is filling with erotic images from the past, present and anticipating the immediate future. Wicked thoughts running rampant with decadent possibilities. My overactive and creative mind readying my body for you without a single word.

Invite me over to you on my hands and knees, words so subtle yet they punch me hard. Winded for you, wet for you. Feel my lips with yours and catch my breath. I can taste your need, your lust, heavy and intoxicating, tantalising my tongue. Smell the bergamot embellished with my nervousness and relief, the enticing scent of your little girl desperate to be taken by your hands, a need only you can satisfy.

you should all know my answers

It’s been five years since we met
You were the storm I wanted to battle
And I was calm you craved

I was never ready for the destruction
Unsettling my life free of complication
You were excitement and a life out of the ordinary

So I let you in

I gave myself to you
And questioned all the choices I made before
We made plans of forever
As the weight of dependency grew heavy on my shoulders

We were what each wanted in that moment
You made me feel adrenaline
And love
And now there are places I can no longer venture to

You made me forget who I am
The Lone Wolf gets weaker with two
But when you left
I became a little more fearless

Dear daddy, I’m not your daughter

Well, maybe parts of me are. My mother used to tell me I was too serious and manipulative. School teachers said that I liked to play the system. My girlfriend told me that I have evil eyes. You told me that you’re always thinking and I always do too.
But daddy, I’m not your daughter.

Well, maybe parts of me are. I am a womaniser. I am a fatist. I hate authority. I have an addictive personality. I make promises I can’t keep. I gamble and drink and smoke too much.
But daddy, I’m not your daughter.
Maybe one day I will be the daughter you’d be proud of.
I’ve yet to keep my girlfriend hostage. I’ve yet to dictate what she does or does not wear. I’ve yet to throw her down a flight of stairs only to drag her back up and kick her down again. I’ve yet to leave her nose scarred from trying to bite it off. I’ve yet to hold her over a bridge. I’ve yet to play with acid. I’ve yet to stalk her family and throw boulders through their windows. I’ve yet to leave her to get new teeth. I’ve yet to leave her to get her ribs fixed.

She’s yet to feel the need to abscond to a different country to seek a safe haven. She’s yet to live in a hostel with no fixed address. She’s yet to live with depression and PTSD and too scared to leave the house.

Daddy, I’m not your daughter.
Maybe one day I will reach my full potential. Maybe if I have a child I will reach my full potential.
Maybe if I had a child I’d kidnap them. Maybe if our faces were painted over national newspapers and maybe if my blurry mugshot was played on the evening news, you’d be proud of me. Maybe when their uncle dies on their birthday, I’d tell them their present is slowly burning on a low heat. Maybe that’ll make you proud.
Do you know who the fuck I am?
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
Lots of Love,
Not Your Fucking Daughter.