over the hill and through

i remember exactly when i realized how it felt to be owned. it's a graphic moment; there was a wash of something like i didn't want to be doing this, being violently moved back and forth while fucked on my living room carpet, my hands flailing around looking for purchase. my eyes rolling in my head and my teeth clacking from the force of it. i know i was wounded, both inside and out, and something broke slightly, as i felt the first prick of wet in my eye.

i tried to ignore it, because i knew what it was. i knew then that whatever defense i'd had, whatever walls i'd put up had cracked somewhere along the way and it was pointless to pretend i had any control left. the word "slave" echoed through my head with a voiceless sound, until it burst out.

funny, though, because i don't remember any cracks. i can read through my own writing and see them now, but at the time i didn't realize it had already happened.

i'm examining the words now, slave. property. owner. Master. thing. (no)thing. control. power. they're just words for other people to use, because really the only truth of it is what happens on the floor and the vicious things you whisper in my ear.