"dominant" poems
Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
With porcelain features, I drowned in her sight
Dominant I control her, she submits to my needs
I punish and tease her with preferences of sinful greed
Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
She lashes and thrashes but I control this fight
Blindfolded and gagged, aroused from my touch
Candle drips between her hips; she loves this so much
Strapped to the bed with a fistful of her mane
She enjoys pain and pleasure; I love this **** game
Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
My fledgling fun toy I command her tonight
She moans with pleasures and screams when she’s bad
Electricity attached, her fears makes me glad
Vaginal to **** play, or no *** at all
A new ******* kit arrives; I’m bouncing off the wall
Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
Under the bed restrains, ****** clamps, and leather cuffs in my sight
She’s cuffed, restrained, clamped and all ready
She needs me it feeds me and keeps me rock steady
She gives me her all in suspended animation
Together we are driven by a powerful lustful twisted sensation
For Bound, wound, and tied up all tight
You’re my favorite present, my fix, and my all through the night
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
it's awful to pass a mirror and want to look away
it seems my love for myself has gone astray
I blame myself for everything I do
even the rights don't hear a "woo!"
"it's okay" you say
but I know I messed up in some way
my mind is twisted, I can't think straight
my most dominant feeling is self-hate
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
While we slumber and sleep,
The sun leaps up from the deep,--
Daylight born at the leap,--
Rapid, dominant, free,
Athirst to bathe in the uttermost sea.
While we linger at play--
If the year would stand at May!--
Winds are up and away,
Over land, over sea,
To their goal, wherever their goal may be.
It is time to arise,
To race for the promised prize;
The sun flies, the wind flies,
We are strong, we are free,
And home lies beyond the stars and the sea.
8.1k
Do you feel better now?
Now that you think you've figured me out?
Found out what makes me tick?
One hand clasped around my throat.
The other tangled in my hair
Pulling my head back so I'm forced to look in your eyes
So you can control me
So you can make me love you
Red marks on the backs of my thighs
A strict set of rules so you'll never worry
Punishment and reward
Equal gratification
All those things you want from me
That you can gain from tying my wrists together
Leaving rope burns across my stomach
Alone in a room
Exposed and waiting for you to come back
And love me
Just like I did to you
But in such a different way
You say that you're dominant
And that I'm the submissive one
Yet you want to jump right in
And I'm going to consider our options
Because your inexperience
Doesn't blend well with my needs
You can't collar me just to say you did
You have to mean it
And you don't know what it means to mean it
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
Skin blushed peach on snow white cheeks
Luster and grandeur not seen by the meek
Intrinsically dominant furnace of femininity
Dither and hither be stricken for insincerity
If you try to speak to her expect less then levity
To your advances she implies depravity
Blatantly ignorant vacuous blond *****
Tell me again how I hate you and want ***
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
This specific autumnal celebration is characterised by throbbing obscenities, where a masquerade of piety resembles the trembling jester as he performs before medieval royalty.
Oh, to witness the salmon run in Northern ecosystems where the caniform classification stands in a dominant stance at the edge of the falls.
So, my independent and competitive contemporary, let us bow with sober reflection at those anthropological schools who swim upstream in this spiritual river in the vain pursuit of unattainable freedom.
Today, on this second Monday of October, the name of the game has been brutally ***** by propagandist salesmen.
So, at this juncture of existential consumerism, we stand within the jaws of our ever-smiling aristocracy. But, if you dare to open your eyes, my friend of unfathomable denial; you will find that the tradition is called Thanksgiving.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 9:46 PM UTC
I live next door,
To a ballerina,
I hear music all day,
And see lights on all night,
It doesn’t bother me,
For we are good friends,
I knew her forever,
Even as a child,
Sometimes I see her,
From my bedroom window,
Dancing like her life depends on it,
Only, it really does,
She moves,
With such grace,
Delicately on her toes,
As if it was easy,
She glances out her window,
Sees me staring,
Flashes a smile,
As if everything was okay,
But I too knew her too well,
To fall for that lie,
I looked at her long and hard,
And now I see why,
Beads of sweat,
Fell down her forehead,
Her legs shook,
As she did a developpe,
Her face was pained,
Strong hint of confusion,
Yet she smiled away,
As if she wasn’t hurting,
She was beautiful,
She could pass as a goddess,
But if you looked closely,
You could see she wasn’t flawless,
Her ever-so-fake smile,
Is what gave her away,
And the shine in her eyes,
Was simply the tears kept inside
Just when I thought,
It was a trick of the light,
She tripped and fell down,
Into a puddle of her own tears,
I didn’t know,
What to do,
Should I climb out my window?
Or leave her in pain?
One thought was dominant,
And it was neither of either,
I screamed just enough,
For her to hear,
She looked up,
And cried once again,
I asked her what was wrong,
Was everything okay?
She said it wasn’t,
As she walked towards her window,
And then did I see her body,
As thin as a straw,
She told me her story,
Everyone was screaming at her,
They said she was pathetic,
Useless in so many ways,
She said she agreed,
They were telling the truth,
She was too fat to be beautiful,
Too fat to dance,
That’s when it hit me,
It explained so much,
She had a disorder,
Anorexia nervosa,
I told her the truth,
While her body shook,
I shook my head and said,
“It’s going to be okay,
My little ballerina”
She smiled, and left.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
Hot pink between her hips,
She’s sinking all his ships.
Her finger slips
Into her slit-
Fun dip.
And raises moon phases to her lips.
Blows the atmosphere a kiss,
Drinks the ocean in little sips.
Gallons of salty tears at her fingertips.
Woman yearning for the rip,
Boy learning to make me drip.
I’m hit.
And I’m only begging for more.
I adore the way you think you’re
Using me.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 1:09 AM UTC
You held me in place with that commanding look
writhing under your gaze
unable to look away from the piercing sight
and afraid to disobey any order
If it was uttered from your lips
my heart would have soared, stretched, and broken
to be praised by your words
or tenderly touched with your rough hands
I could feel your hand on my neck
squeezing slowly until the blood started pounding
my pain was your pleasure
and your pleasure was my purpose
Little did I know that you would be squeezing too strongly
the ropes were too tight around my waist
the collar choking my neck
no amount of clawing would have made you let go
so I went limp with my love
A submissive gives trust
yields to whoever they believe is worthy
submitting more than their body
but their very essence
A dominant is supposed to wield that trust
to protect and realize the significance of it
not squeeze and suffocate it
pretending that lies warrant trust in return
I could not have been enough for your demands
and you broke the trust I gingerly placed in your hands
Take your bonds and pretend to wrap them around someone else
my being can take no more of your bruising
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
Submissiveness:
give into man. silence yourself. his word is final. rush to his beck and call when he is angered. we are wrong. man is dominant, and woman is soft. if man is the bone, we are the gushy cartilage cushioning his fall. body dominated and composed of bone, but we are the organs that keep the body functioning. forever being transplanted, while our men are broken. submit.
Purity:
save yourself for man. wait for him with all your white so you are not tainted. innocence upheld. it is all for him, only him. wait for him to take it all, whenever he desires. be pure.
Domesticity:
the home calls our name. it is our calling. our knees bound to scrubbing, hands tied to kneading because our family needs us. we are to be the slaves of our homes just as we were to the white man. permanency of pressing collars that are not our own. domestic labor.
Piety:
we come from the rib of adam. without the presence of man we, ourselves would not exist. for this reason, we worship. we worship to reiterate our purity, to maintain our sanity when others challenge our virtues of womanhood. the lord is our shepherd. we uphold our lord. besides our husbands, he is all that we shall want.
womanhood.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
I find myself looking for words.
Combinations of feeling
I did not know existed.
I cannot breathe.
I struggle for them
& make myself a fool.
The world was so big before I met you
& now I'm grasping for it,
unable to recall it's delusion
as I am pulled into your orbit.
Out of drifting dreams.
My mind goes blank
& all I can see
is the dark galaxy that is you.
Alien, beautiful & natural.
You haunt me.
I nearly never believed so big,
& you infiltrated this complex defense
to show me what's been missing.
Half crazed by the loneliness of space
I cannot articulate.
Another form of art I hesitate to express.
I do not trust myself
that it will not be perfect,
fluid,
each stroke of the tongue
like the brush fear failure.
I want to show you all I see
beneath the stars.
Let the brilliance of the moon shine through.
But she is stuck.
In the cloud of curious awareness,
my eloquence cripples me.
How many things can I say
before I lose my grace?
& I dread
the company of simple minds
who cannot love stories.
So eager,
your patience holds the hand of the clock.
I want to watch your eyes glow
lit up by the music from my lips,
& I want to be carried off
by all you reminisce.
I can't believe in chance
when a soul like yours comes to court.
Thrice even.
I am challenged by the core of you.
Inquiry.
Things I cannot see
& stopped looking for.
If I take no notice,
I will not be seen.
Drawn into someone else's dreams,
Abandoning me.
I forgot how to identify
with my kind
so that I did not lose me.
Then I rusted over.
The great machine locked away
while the shows went on
in Technicolor.
Introspective
losing passion & luster inside this shell.
How you found me,
only body in forum.
You took me out to play.
Engaged, stalled, oiled & sparked
Life.
I am reminded of a better me.
An affirmation,
of my Dominant heart.
His voice,
the coaxing in my womb to Be.
Away with closed up, dying to shine.
You wanted to show me off,
pretty girl.
I remember being a Goddess
& shattering the abyss around me
with heart & raw warmth.
The fire of honesty.
Unsatiated wander bred in me
& I held nothing back.
Now the world is clay
& my garden to build upon.
Train me to grow.
I am inspired to be stardust.
Permeate every corner of this heavenly body.
I find myself the eager student of Aquarius.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
these days
looking around the globe
one might believe that we are travelling in time
just in the wrong direction
regression as progress
seems to be
the dominant notion of the day
creating wannabees in various disguises
populist czars, sultans, nationalists, dictators,
assorted self-appointed snake-oil salesmen
and saviors of their peoples’ wealth and health,
trumpeting fences, walls, tough immigration laws,
etc., etc.
to keep out all those aliens
who otherwise are welcome
as our partners in the global trade
that seems to dominate the world of greed
so we can all be ourselves
whatever that might mean
claiming to solve the problems of tomorrow
with romanticized memories of yesterday
is hopeless and quite dangerous
do you remember
what that glorified past
actually was?
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
just another lovesick poem
written by another sad boy
about
being alone or
rejected or
"in love"
as if any of you
*************
have the experience
to look at another human
and know
to the depths of your soul
that you are
in love
all lowercase
because
love isn't trumpets and fanfare
love is
quiet mornings and
simple dinners and
a willingness to be
vulnerable
love is
"hi babe
I know you've had a rough day at work
so you just lay there and
let me make you
***
or
"I'm gonna make you dinner
and then
I'm gonna tie you up and
**** you"
love is not
what we were taught in church or
on the Disney Channel or
from a Stephanie Meyers novel
love is not
what your parents told you
"wait to have *** until you're
married"
abstinence is good
condoms are bad
your *** should be vanilla
men are dominant
women are submissive
missionary is the only position
*** is about procreation not pleasure
love is self defined; find it for yourself.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
I live next door,
To a ballerina,
I hear music all day,
And see lights on all night,
It doesn’t bother me,
For we are good friends,
I knew her forever,
Even as a child,
Sometimes I see her,
From my bedroom window,
Dancing like her life depends on it,
Only, it really does,
She moves,
With such grace,
Delicately on her toes,
As if it was easy,
She glances out her window,
Sees me staring,
Flashes a smile,
As if everything was okay,
But I too knew her too well,
To fall for that lie,
I looked at her long and hard,
And now I see why,
Beads of sweat,
Fell down her forehead,
Her legs shook,
As she did a developpe,
Her face was pained,
Strong hint of confusion,
Yet she smiled away,
As if she wasn’t hurting,
She was beautiful,
She could pass as a goddess,
But if you looked closely,
You could see she wasn’t flawless,
Her ever-so-fake smile,
Is what gave her away,
And the shine in her eyes,
Was simply the tears kept inside
Just when I thought,
It was a trick of the light,
She tripped and fell down,
Into a puddle of her own tears,
I didn’t know,
What to do,
Should I climb out my window?
Or leave her in pain?
One thought was dominant,
And it was neither of either,
I screamed just enough,
For her to hear,
She looked up,
And cried once again,
I asked her what was wrong,
Was everything okay?
She said it wasn’t,
As she walked towards her window,
And then did I see her body,
As thin as a straw,
She told me her story,
Everyone was screaming at her,
They said she was pathetic,
Useless in so many ways,
She said she agreed,
They were telling the truth,
She was too fat to be beautiful,
Too fat to dance,
That’s when it hit me,
It explained so much,
She had a disorder,
Anorexia nervosa,
I told her the truth,
While her body shook,
I shook my head and said,
“It’s going to be okay,
My little ballerina”
She smiled, and left.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
I fall to my knees,
Kneeling before you,
My Master,
Groveling at your glorious feet,
To reveal the chains of submission,
Weighing down my delicate form.
You gaze upon me,
Beholding soft skin shimmering,
As my body is folded over;
Viewing my tantalizing beauty,
As I bestow myself,
To fulfill your deepest desires,
Conjuring the darkest yearnings,
Manifesting within.
“Rise, Baby Girl’’,
Your deep voice commands,
Reverberating within this crimson colored chamber,
As your figure towers over me,
Beckoning my legs to stand,
Obliging to please you,
As my hazel eyes encounter,
The blazing intensity of your own,
Sending flames to burn,
Down to the small of my back.
Fear is the armor I allow to fall,
Tumbling to the ground,
Cloaking myself in trust,
As I allow my body to be,
Touched by dominant hands,
Trussed up by ropes and chains,
To restrain to me.
Willingly becoming prey,
To the sweet, antagonizing caress,
Before your hand aggressively strikes,
My behind,
Sending me into a realm,
Of pleasure and pain,
Morphing into one sensation.
Free is the response I experience,
As you bounds my wrists,
With your tie,
Pinning me down,
Straddling my body.
Placed between your thighs,
With your heated lips,
Conquering every inch of my body.
The Sting of the flogger,
Is a bite against the skin I crave,
As silence is the language,
I choose to speak,
Feeling your fingertips claim me,
As your territory to reign over,
As you please.
I yearn to satisfy the hunger,
Starving to be your nourishment;
For Sadism to feed,
Upon masochism,
As a balance of power is established,
As we lose ourselves in fiery passion.
Dominance and Submission,
Forces meant to bond to the other,
In a marriage of infliction and reception,
Of blissful agony,
Accepting the temptations you direct,
Towards me as guide,
To obtain our darkest of fantasies.
Submission speaks out within,
The silence as I give you,
A proffered hand,
Succumbing to the sensual dreams,
You promise to me,
Allowing you to possess me in any way,
You wish in accordance to our terms.
May you indulge upon my form,
Like decadent candy you crave,
To devour,
Savoring every taste,
Sound, smell, and touch,
In this licentious dance between you,
My Master,
And me, your fervent lady,
Of submission.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
They say a dog chooses it’s Master
and i believe a submissive does too.
Because just moments within meeting him,
i swear I already knew.
Set aside any criteria
and any particular credentials.
That something you can’t quite put your finger on,
Is one of my fundamentals.
I let him look inside my soul,
i show him I’m a dreamer.
Already he’s controlling me
and has altered my demeanour.
My logic screams inside me NO!
-Don’t sell your soul to the devil.
But my senses scream inside me YES...
“In his presence you will revel! “
The more we talk, the more I feared
as he changed my personality.
Yet further i delve into his aura,
although anticipating fatality.
Throwing caution to the wind,
i ignored my logic mind,
Ready to give him all of me,
til he suddenly declined.
Confusion strikes, I feel a loss.
Not knowing what I’ve done.
He tells me you’re not serious
and only seeking bedroom fun.
I don’t know how to prove myself,
wondering if this is just a test.
One day he’s here, the next he’s not.
I feel so... Dispossessed? !
I’d usually give up once rejected
but I know I must persist.
My inner sub is telling me
she needs him to exist.
You see jus moments within meeting him,
something was oh so very prominent.
I’m sure he doesn’t know it yet,
but he’s destined to be my
DOMINANT.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
what's the point of buying a portrait if you are blind?
nothing i would see is worth my precious time—
just more metal, bad skin, and tired, jealous eyes
senseless sensibility is a cold kettle boiling,
nonsense steam fogs up the jaded glass.
draw a picture with your finger,
smile as it fades to apathy,
all that lovely water turned to gas.
i lick my palms to play pretend with illness,
stay in bed with the quilt kicked off-kilter,
crawling with the brood of the six-legged past;
they are eating the nests of the threatened, bitter future
change the cable channels in my brain,
but only stations two and five are clear,
and eight if a wire coat-hanger antenna
is bent at an angle from my dominant ear
so i can sit, content, and watch the weather
sneaking in exhaust from every orifice
gets me passed out stupid every time;
a coping mechanism,
coated **** between the gears,
and only this pollution left behind.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC
An afterthought of the day, evolves around me I have to say, I run and hide, not wanting to stay, the dominant side, wanting to play.
Control nothing not even my mind, I am tired of being so kind, the bright light doth shine, darkness comes over so blind, trying to find.
Leave me let me go, my light no more glow, yes I feel very low, these words my only flow, as my heart pulses to and fro, I just want to scream NO
Submission such a game, I am the one to blame, for I lost all of my aim, now I only just want to maim, end it all my life a tragedy a shame.
Reaper come quick, take me I do so pick, read my soul see it is sick, too deep in too thick, lost my way broken wick, let me partake of arsenic.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC
My **** slave
Your lips I crave.
Your master on her knees.
Your hand , my throat
So please take note.
A master you could be.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
you say,
you are not a ******
you say,
you come in peace
but this does not put me at ease.
because you are a man
tall,
dominant,
strong.
i am aware of your testosterone
lingering in your blood stream
like alcohol,
in a drunken girl.
unconscious,
while he feeds on her drunken body
like prey.
you say,
you are not a ******
you say,
you mean no harm
but i am a woman,
in a man's world
and you are a man,
in a rapist's world
so i hear yours words
and approach with caution.
Apr 22, 2022
Apr 22, 2022 at 4:50 AM UTC
Some girls just like something very traditional. does that make them any less of a woman. can a woman be a traditionalist and still be a feminist? I think so. I think that what we shared in that time was exactly what we wanted, to fall back into structured and secure roles, because we'd been through the centrifuge lately. And that may not have been who the both of us were at heart, but it worked to heal us, to make us both better for the future, and most importantly, less cynical. I think that what is most feminist about any relationship is the ability to choose. I've been in relationships where I'm the dominant one, and others where I'm not. It takes the ability to check your own self and being a pragmatist, because if you love someone you will change for them. You won't change your personality, but you'll change the way you approach a relationship if you care about them enough. I think that's what feminism boils down to. Allowing both partners to choose their roles in the relationship instead of having them chosen for them. So, **** it, my girl wants to be Susie Homemaker; that's her choice and I lay my head on that.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
Direct,
Physically dominant.
Unargueably aggressive,
Yet,
So unnoticed.
Recognisable colours,
Hidden behind,
Covering deceit.
Deceptive courage,
Fake smile,
Grimacing strength.
Cowering,
Submission is granted.
Obvious circumstances,
So misunderstood,
Retreat,
Access denied.
Apologies don't exist,
Escape artist,
Mascuerading as the helpless,
Only the strong,
Survive in,
Shadows.
Sudden movement,
Hard, cold floor.
Casualty,
More questions,
More lies,
No truth,
Is ever uttered.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 4:05 AM UTC
A phrase that people treat
like a joke, and that people
have failed to recognize the
significance of.
Black is beautiful.
Brown is beautiful.
Over breakfast foods I tried to
discuss how saying,
"I prefer white people/
I find white people attractive"
is subtle racism.
It was a difficult dialogue that
left me sick and empty.
The feeling of being more radical
than everyone around you.
Meeting a black girl who wants to be white,
hearing from all your friends,
"I just prefer white people",
I see, I see a dominant ideology that
places whiteness above everything else,
especially blackness. It is also a lie.
It is definitely racist.
It says that despite all other qualities a person may have,
their skin color holds them back in your eyes.
Instead I am told my ideas exist in a "box".
The reality of what I say is intensely real to me.
If you can't see the racism in yourself,
I'm not holding you to a quality where
you can point it out in others.
If you can openly pinpoint attractiveness to skin color
and just try to cop it out as "preference"
I am going to call you racist.
Black is beautiful.
Brown is beautiful.
You are not "naturally" attracted to white people.
In that phrase, you tell me it is unnatural for you
to be attracted to black people, or any person of color.
It is not natural. You have adopted the dominant ideology.
It is a subtle and now inherent racism.
I am tired of feeling sick because I'm the radical,
however it is a feeling I understand I will never escape.
It will follow me my entire life, I hope.
I'm sick of feeling marginalized because I recognize
sexism exists, and racism exists, and subtlety does not
******* hide it from me, I'm sick sick sick sick sick of it.
**** it though, I'd rather be sick my entire life,
and see the racism in me and others
than not see it, and just passively swallow that ideology.
I'll carry that weight in my guts,
not because I'm a martyr, because I ******* hate everyone;
because I love myself just that much.
I don't deserve to be that person anymore.
Black is beautiful.
Brown is beautiful.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
**** a way of life.
Submission.
Pain and pleasure.
A relaxing lesure.
Some may disagree may think perverse
in the end it's your choice.
Sir or Mistress dominant or submissive.
Tied blindfold waiting .
Hearing before feeling.
A searing of pain.
Making you wet again.
The secret is trust .
With the one you love.
An ****** high that you should
at least once try.
Carl Dunford.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
I must admit that I am bored.
Utterly bored, actually, with the overly romanticized construct of dominance.
How easily one can claim to be dominant.
Shocking? No.
We as human beings aspire to attain the intangible.
Exponential wealth. Immortality. Fame. Power.
We live in a world of illusion and fallacy.
We drive cars that we can’t afford,
often to jobs that we despise.
We attain validation through the media,
from blasé people that require it in return.
What I have found- and take this for what you will,
is that my longing for external dominance is simply a translation for
“By god please take control, and ground me to something real.”
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC