a new chapter in my ego

A slow and steady obsession is feeding.

My perception of suppression is waning.

The inhibition for ignition is straining.

I have tons and tons of thoughts…
…and lots of them.

Of all the words I know, I know so few.

My hypocrisy slyly invites the suggestion of ownership

and my couth invites it as well.

So where is this part of me who disapproves?

She is mine and she belongs to me.

I am hers and submit to her passionately.

She is mine to do with as I please.

Like a puppy, she waits for her collar.

Like a freedom-granting owner, I do without.

She walks by my side and she is mine.

She will not stray.

The passerby may question who is the master.

As she quaintly rescinds her snarl, I politely wave him by.

The moment is bleak, for it is apparent that her resentment was not for the attempted usurpation

But for my refusal to stake my claim and fend of the interloper.

So bad she wants to collar herself and scoot me the leash

And so badly I want to take it in-hand.

Parade around the park to show the world that she is mine and none others’.

That I am hers.

That she is mine.

But where is my strength?

How is it made so that I may be the beet of jealousy and continue to lead from behind?

Here in appletown she sits when I say sit.

She sleeps when I say sleep.

She loves when I say love.

And when she suggests to own, I displace the leash from her offering nuzzle

And continue to withhold the dormant craving to dominate.

As the same silent cerebral symphony simmers seductively, singing sweet,

Serenading sour, shouting sharp shrieking shards shooting, shivers spirit-bound.

Let me learn to live to love again and you will be mine… you’ll have no choice.

Let me learn that it’s ok not to try and like and hide from whats inside and you will be mine…
… I will have no choice.

The true design that is my madness, wanders from sketch to sketch,

Plating seeds in tangents and lost causes never to realize they were even there at all.

I swim around in 99 flavours of emotion, all to custom mix.

Each one sweeter and saltier and stranger than the the one before.

Savory embezzles when my imagination runs free.

Accept my ambiguities and metaphors or fore-go the privilege

Of declaring your understanding and commitment to me.