I completely understand if you don’t understand. This is not something to be understood, except by those that understand it. It just is what it is. 

Could be a perfect alignment of molestation, rape, pain, and suffering. Punches landed and head rocked. Throw in a dash of neglect and a pinch of abandonment. Drops of spittle splatter spewed from screaming lunatics. Let it all stew in a slurry of fear and shame. What does it all make? A spicy memory soup that smacks of worthless trash whore. Yummy. 

The details don’t matter. The task of cataloging and categorizing would be pointless and exhausting. What matters now isn’t what or when or why or who. What matters the most right now is action. What matters now is recognition, acceptance, appreciation, and adoration. What matters now is love.

Love yourself. Hold yourself. Cradle yourself. Hug yourself. Rock yourself. Love yourself. Wrap up in a blanket to stay warm. Hold and kiss your teddy. Tune out the world. It’s all going to be okay. We all die someday. Love yourself. Don’t ask. Don’t want. Don’t need. Love yourself. We don’t want to understand. Know yourself. It’s not our problem. Fix yourself. The world doesn’t owe you anything. Comfort yourself. All we need is love. Love yourself. Beautiful little girl with a sexy body. Pleasure yourself. Cum for me. Love yourself. 

He’s a sick and twisted fuck. He’s my Black Master. He’s the man that I’ve fallen in love with. He’s activated me. I can’t help but cling to him. I could care less how desperate I may seem. I am desperate. I need him. I will never be the same, with or without him. 

Some wonder how I could hold onto him. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my man. He won’t claim me in any traditional sense. He’s told me countless times we’re not in a relationship. He doesn’t want a relationship. He’s not ready for a relationship. He doesn’t want me, yet I am his. I am not his girl, but he is my Daddy. 

He rules me. He’s hypnotized me. Mesmerized me. There are no other eyes I care to look into in this world other than his. When he looks at me, he sees me. I don’t mean my skin and clothes. I mean my soul. A penetrating gaze from him into my eyes will tell him mountains more than my mouth ever could. 

No one has ever ventured as deep as Daddy has. And I’m not talking about his big dick either. I’m talking about his mind. I’m talking about how well his demons dance with mine. I’m a masochist and he is sadistic. It’s a delicious combination of pain and pleasure. My pain for Daddy’s pleasure. 

The pain is consistent, persistent, and constant. The physical pain inflicted I endure so much more than the emotional pain. Inadequacy is a plague that suffocates my self-worth. Why am I not good enough? How can I stop loving him? What can I do to move on? I’m helpless as long as I’m in love with him.

The pain is necessary. I need to hurt in order to grow. I need to suffer. 

I knew I wanted him from nearly the beginning. I wanted his control over me. I wanted him to train me, but even more than that, I realized I needed him to wake me up. 

Throughout my awakening, he’s been solid. Loyal. Honest. He’s been a pillar of strength, always. Many times he’s my only comfort. He has shown me consistency in his presence. He has given the most precious gift one can give in life, and that is his time. 

I want to make Daddy proud. I want to be Daddy’s bestest girl. Anything for Daddy. 

Will I ever be worthy, Daddy? Will you ever proudly claim me as your prized possession? How long must I wait, Daddy? How will I know?