The rope that you’re using to hold me
I crave as my very own,
for I am your woman desiring
and submissive is now what I am.

Your whip might hold such terror
for one who knows not of pain,
for me it’s an object of wanting
that drives me to seek it again.

The gag that holds me in silence
so my protests cannot be heard,
arouses me more than I tell you
as screams are held deep inside.

So much of me needs all this from you
making me want in this way,
I cannot find it with others
only you can control how I play.

The torture you give is sublime now
such suffering drives me insane,
my mind goes deep into meltdown
and beyond anything I can explain.

The force of your lash overwhelms me
with agony driving so deep,
yet I must take all that you give me
as you dry the wet tears when I weep.

‘Tis then that you hold me so softly
with arms around me so tight,
to know that I am your slavegirl
and suffering for you is so right.
*

From the Francesca Anderssen collection of 101 BDSM Verses 2017
I write of what I know from life as I have lived it. Kinky yes, but in the company of liked minded people who have invariably been kind and courteous in parallel with their sadism.
My book of collected verse is on Amazon (Francesca Anderssen)
on kindle and paperback, together with my BDSM Novel "Need" which is semi autobiographical.
WistfulHope Jan 2015
Don't we all want
to be held
while we cry?
I'm alone.
Ashe L Bennett Feb 2011
I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.

I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.

I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.

I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.

And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
Only...
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,

"I love you."
Copyright by Ash L. Bennett, 2011
Nigel Finn Mar 2016
You took my hand and asked me to dance,
But I was far too tired to do so,
The simple act of walking being far beyond
My limited capabilities at that point.
I had been reduced to hugs and kisses,
And tales of how glorious my past lives had been,
And holding hands.

I wondered if I should let go- it seemed so different,
From any I'd ever held before, that hand.
For years I'd held others with the sole
Intention of drawing pain away-
I am not capable of creating happiness,
And I've never claimed otherwise.

Your hand had no pain to draw away though,
Or at least none that I could find,
Which startled me (All the others held so much!)
I had thought I knew all there was to know about hands-
Their needs, and all the varieties they come in.
How they all needed comforting in different ways
For similar ailments- grief, loneliness,
Heartbreak, being among the most common.
I'd even learnt to hold phantoms limbs for a few.
I'd move the pain aside, lessen it, or sometimes
Even take it as my own, releasing it when no-one else was looking,
Into a stone, or an abandoned old house.

But your hand simply said "I am here to be held."
It shocked me so much I didn't realise I was
Walking again. You glided gracefully ahead
As I clunked behind, unsure of myself,
Holding on to you, trying to figure you out
In the short window of opportunity I had left.

I saw it as our interlocked fingers departed.
Somewhere in the webbing between your ring
And index fingers on your left hand
Was what I had been searching for all along.
I won't go into detail about what I saw
(Our pain is no-one's business but our own),
But I saw it though, far more beautifully arranged
Than I thought was ever possible,
Noticing you had stolen some of mine
When I wasn't looking, and wondering
How much damage I had done.

I don't know whether I danced with you or not,
The release answered so much while
Explaining not quite enough.
I watched you, enraptured by the way
The pain never once showed
Through those beautiful, happy eyes,
Which never seemed to break.

Now I wonder if I had held your palm
Not too little, but far too much.
The pain I saw was labelled thus-
"Life experiences- Please don't touch
All is well. Please remain calm."
littlebrush Mar 2016
You heard me,
when I whispered softly;
You held me,
as I wept loudly;
You love me,
despite me,
despite me.
.
mourning dove coos echo
across dawn’s dappled silence--

only these quiet pauses of breath
hush the dew droplets passive trickle

poignant traces of a solacing gravity
seep down through fogged portals,
cascading earthward from above

a symphony of pining pleas
from dew impearled wild feathers

a simple prayer of hope--

          to be held
in breathless warmth,

          in the amity                                                            ­                   .
of compassionate comfort,

       nestled intimately

beneath another’s assuaging wing



©  *wild is the wind
life nomadic Jan 2013
I don’t have faith.  
I just know that I belong to my Savior Jesus.  I met her once when I was 11, at her humble single wide in a cramped trailer park and she made candied walnuts on a hotplate.  I didn’t find out until years later that she paid for my scholarship.  She had passed on by then; I wish I could have thanked her.

He arrived at Juvenile Hall at 7:00 pm looking like Mrs. Santa Claus, to take me into her home for a year.  I made some sarcastic teenage comment about the stupid country music on her car radio, and she tolerated it with a smile; saying ‘its not stupid, its simple.’ She showed me what a caring family looks like and didn’t kick me out for being a smart-ass; gave me chores and a curfew to show me I belonged.

When I had no family or boyfriend in my life, I lived in a maternity home until my baby would be adopted.  Jesus was the stranger in the hushed hospital room holding my hand, after the medics couldn’t find the heartbeat in the ambulance, which was confirmed on the maternity floor, and I was taken to another floor so my crying wouldn’t upset the other mothers.  The room was small and dark and alone, and the clock on the wall took an eternity to move two minutes, for the entire night that I was in labor, the longest night in my life.   I didn’t remember someone holding my hand; I was so drugged for pain.  She showed me her arms two days later, so bruised because she didn’t leave me.

Jesus was the woman from Planned Parenthood on the other end of the phone, listening to me when I called the Women’s Clinic asking how I could find a doctor.  ‘ I just moved here, and I work at a minimum wage job, and I lost my baby a month ago, but how do I get a post-partum exam when I don’t have a doctor, or any money, or insurance?’  I was very matter of fact about it, I mean this was my circumstance and what to do?  She arranged a birth control exam because the state would pay for that, by a doctor who would give me the post-partum.  She also referred me to a support group.  I had been alone but she found me people who understood and could sympathize and help me accept grief.   I look back on that now; there were no sign-carrying Christians or Churches arranging the adoption who helped me, she was the only one who cared.
.
.
Copyright © 2013 Anna Honda. All Rights Reserved.
NV Apr 2016
I
TOLD
YOU.

AND I AM
TELLING
YOU
AGAIN.

I AM GOING TO HOLD YOUR HEAD UP,
WHILE I HOLD YOUR HAND.
Paralyzed from the heart down,
Abandoned, lost and found,
The relinquishing of the crown,
Breathing, feeling my heart pound.

Haste takes my calm mind,
Enduring, hatred and pain,
The ropes caressing feel the bind,
The world submissive, barren and plain.

Sold for a cruel desire,
Abused, jaded and forgotten,
The burning of a torrid fire,
My soul defeated, life begotten.

Taken away from my morality,
Stolen, fought and lost,
The time considered a technicality,
The hours dragging, a heavy cost.
Captain Trips Mar 2015
My hands fascinate me
because all I have left
of her is the dirt under
my fingernails.

The lines in my palms
all point towards the
past and everything I've
ever held.

And my fat knuckles
are getting harder and
harder for me to keep
cracking them.

Nails, bones, knuckles,
tendons, joints, creases,
cuticles, scars, burns,
varicose veins.

No two hands are
ever held the same.
mike dm Dec 2015
the scar tissue
from your star
has shot
clean through me

it glows the color of memory

how you had held me
holds me now
Alyssa Dec 2013
I can see it now, I was in 4th grade and we were all saying the pledge of allegiance with our hands over our hearts. "One nation, under God, indivisible with liberty and justice for all." I always thought it was "invisible". One nation, under God, invisible. It suddenly turned our nation into a superhero with the sickest super power ever, invisibility. Our nation was leaping over buildings and fighting crime in the moonlight with a bad ass sidekick named God.
One nation, under God, invisible. That's what i have become to this sidekick, invisible. I subsequently have fallen victim to the rare oddity that is my brain and finally realized that God doesn't even know who i am. Suddenly, this nation was not jumping over tall buildings, it was blocking the sunlight and causing an eclipse.
One nation, under God, invisible. I am invisible in this darkness of the night. But i searched for the moon relentlessly, knowing that it was my only chance of finding my way out of here. And once i found it, i held it in my arms, cradled it like a sleeping baby and careful not to wake it up because once it awakens it must escape to the sky and will no longer be mine. But to no avail, the moon was awake and whispered to me, "Dear child, did you really think you could escape God?"
I'm drunk and my god mother passed away and life is constantly consuming me
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