#collar
Your collar does not surround my neck.
It is not physically there,
Nor is Your hand
Encircling
my throat.
It is not
Tangible
but I still
feel it.
Comfortably
It grips my skin,
suffocates my lungs, and
Tightens in my chest, until I cannot breathe.
Feb 19
Feb 19, 2026 at 4:39 PM UTC
I take her collar off at the door
We don’t wear slave clothes in this house,
not even her—
no collar, no leash,
not while we’re inside these walls.
Not in the place where we breathe easy,
where the weight of the world can’t follow us in.
I call them “slave clothes,”
but it’s not just the collar around her neck—
it’s the weight we leave at the door,
the pressures we shed,
the expectations that don’t fit
once we step into this space.
In this house,
there’s no pressure to be something else,
no burden of how they see us—
just love,
just peace,
just a place where we can breathe.
She knows it too—
free to run,
free to rest,
free to simply be.
No chains,
no bounds,
no collars to remind her
of a world outside that isn’t as kind.
But outside—
there’s the fence she must stay in,
the collar she must wear,
tags that announce her place in the world.
Yet, when she’s in here—
in this space where she belongs—
she’s comfortable,
she’s free,
she’s safe.
And that’s how we all are here,
free of the weight of the world outside,
free of the pressures that tell us who we should be.
Here, we make the choices.
Here, we live by our own rhythm.
Here, we know that love means freedom,
and freedom means peace.
We don’t wear slave clothes in this house,
because we’ve earned the right
to live without them.
In this space,
we are safe,
we are whole,
and we are loved—
Why do I take her collar off?
We don’t wear slave clothes in this house.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 5:35 PM UTC
Whispers I sent out to dawn latched
on to the solitary sun to trail
the arc of a common time
in a sky the hue of gold in grass.
The land leans on the baobab
in a dust storm of wheels and lenses.
Wheels and lenses.
When the dust settles, I will dust
my shuka and the goats will return
home, to comfort my eyes that flow
the spate of the Great Ruaha,
seeping secretly into the baobab
I have chores to do, a shuka to ****
A shuka to ****
Will they buy the beads I strung
as I rocked Naeku on my back,
to make circles of day and circles
of night, as wide as the baobab,
in the colour of clouds, the colour of sky.
There's colour to stars in a darkened night.
A darkened night.
Killeleshua is fragrant in thousand leaves
Am I not worth more than thirteen Zebu?
The watering hole was flecked in hippos
and the firewood is the colour of dusk
abundantly generous as the baobab
Time, a viscous passing of the sweetest honey.
The sweetest honey.
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 11:35 AM UTC
roofers in the rain
spared from sun
chimney swifts, gliding
Apr 27, 2020
Apr 27, 2020 at 12:35 PM UTC
We clanked our wine glasses together
Suits for the occasion
And I tried to remember the names
Especially the ones who’s faces I recognize
One man in particular looks older than I remember, with a haircut far too young
Talking all about
The deal of the last year
Maybe a Christmas bonus this year
So he can go home to his wife
“Look honey we can buy another car”
And maybe this time she won’t sleep
With the neighbor
I shake his hand hard because the poor old b*stard needs something
And maybes its this extravagant event
guys like me shaking his hand firm enough
That he knows he’s important somewhere
And we are all impressed by his hard work and loyalty
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 3:44 AM UTC
i sat in my mother's truck for the first time in a week
his hair covered the cab seats
and stuck to my pants
i noticed his collar on the dash
'MILES'
all dogs die
but maybe they go to heaven
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 10:11 AM UTC
Enslavement beyond yearnings,
tied to the precursors
of times submitted before.
But I'll never be held in solitude,
our right's to never be shackled.
We wear our freedom with pride.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
A desk is a chain
And a door a weight amongst a wait
And yet men and women chain themselves
To merely familiar similar fates
On a daily basis they do base
Their admirations on those without chains
But it couldn’t be
That IT were THEY
That freedom were found in a more free way
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC
and if someday,
some happy day
life grabs you by the collar
and knocks some sense
into your head,
don't think about it
don't fight it.
just remember
that somewhere
in the bottom of a wine glass,
you exist
forever.
-- Eleanor
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC
A young man with ***** hands
walked into the bar.
He sat next to a blonde
of about the same age
and ordered a beer.
"Don't even try to talk to me,"
she said in an arrogant tone.
The young man didn't speak.
Defeated, he climbed off the stool.
He took a pull from the beer
and then dropped a crinkled fiver.
As he walked out the door,
the girl laughed out loud.
She showed us all
who was boss.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 1:34 PM UTC
Centered around your neck, the prettiness of the stainless steel shines locked in to place, your Daddy loves you more this day.
On bended knees, you wait, as I approach with it in my hand, tilt your head back as I place it around, and snap the lock down.
Let it dangle, feel the weight, feel the love, the symbolism of you and I, is more then a piece of metal, it is pure love I say.
Little One, you are the first, truly are to be offered this gift, No one before you, no not even her, your loved removed a frown.
Ask yourself, are you worthy to be my submissive? Worthy to be my baby girl? Worthy to love me forever? Worthy to be mine.
Remember this, remember it clearly, the answer to those questions is simple, the answer is yes, forever you will be.
Only you will forever be my property, the stainless around your neck is the significance of this, missing with no shine.
Never, forget my love, forget that I own you, please show the world in our own little way, that you are owned, not free.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC
Although you are gone
Your collar still smells like you
After all this time
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
Another Day
Another dollar
That's what I get
For, I'm blue collar
Working hard
For all the bosses
Sitting upstairs
In the office
Grab a coffee
On the way
do the same stuff
every day
nothing changes
It's routine
That's the way
It's always been
I am just a working man
Doing the best job that I can
Nine to Five, or Eight to Four
Do my eight and out the door
Loading trucks to hit the road
Get 'em out with a full load
Doing just the best I can
I am just a working man
Twenty minutes
and two breaks
That is all
The time I take
Sneak a smoke
When I can
This is the life
Of a working man
Old and rusted
two tone truck
Always busted
Just my luck
Working hard
To make a dollar
It's the lot
of a blue collar
I am just a working man
Doing the best job that I can
Nine to Five, or Eight to Four
Do my eight and out the door
Loading trucks to hit the road
Get 'em out with a full load
Doing just the best I can
I am just a working man
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
from the balcony view,
I see my youth.
half thrown to dust,
and half of recovery.
I see the rich among
the solitude,
and the dirt on
young feet.
I see smiles of ignorance,
young ignorance to
fade with age.
and the white collars
comporting in peace,
completely aware of the tilted
lives held.
the big to eat
their derelicts,
and the small with
intense perceptive.
from this balcony view,
I see our traffic,
going absolutely nowhere.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC