i drive him crazy.
i have potential.
i’m sometimes brilliant.
he thinks i’m lazy.
he wants to beat me.
i lack direction,
have no discipline.
he wants to beat me.
he’s absolutely right.
i need his chains
the brutal cane
his lesson plans
his strangling hand
so I can be
exactly
what
he wants.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later...
He asks a lot of me. He thinks I have it in me so he pushes me and expects a lot. He is right to push me, and he's the only one who ever has. He touched a button. He pushed me and hit a button and then knew he had and I was glad he had, I need to be pushed but still he saw things and... he called. And he was kind. Unheard of. It won't happen again. But still...
I would do anything for him.
Thank you, Sir.
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7 comments:
OG, blessèd is she who learns wisdom, even at the hands of her demon muse, and appreciates it.
Warm hugs,
Paul.
Oh I do appreciate it, Paul. I am in a constant state of gratitude and worship. The things I am finding in myself, the places he takes me as he drags me down into the hell of his desires... and even then he only takes me to the door and lets me peek in.
Somehow his brutality elevates me, his control stabilizes me, his demands expand me.
And then to have him be kind like that... it undoes me. It's as if he branded me with his concern... and now the chain has been soldered around my neck.
OG you amaze me. even while ill, you write beautifully. thank you for sharing your talent of communicating through the written word.
Oatmeal Girl
I think I do know what you mean. There is nothing so wonderful as a man who absolutely insists on your very best work; to be your very best. Whilst at times one can wonder if he'll ever be satisfied, if he stopped being demanding, it would be shattering, wouldn't it?
Your poem suggests you wrestle with it, not quite sure that you are the person he says you are. Why not just surrender, and do it like he says? I get the feeling you want to.
Oh, Vesta, it is such a complicated issues. And a very old one. I am an embarrassment of an underachiever. From childhood. Flashes of brilliance, very creative, good student with not that much effort, could have been great with effort, always trying to be a good girl except for sparks of rebellion now and then. Blame undiagnosed ADD - unrecognized in good girls, in almost any girls, in the 50s and 60s when they spoke of hyperactive kids - boys. Blame depression - which a doctor decided didn't need to be treated - and how could one treat it in the 50s? Blame SAD. Blame fear of failure. if you haven't really tried, you haven't failed. Oh there were a host of reasons. And then the writer's block that set in at around 14 and didn't lift until a couple of years ago.
I adore him because he demands the best of me, he pushes me, he imposes structure, he gives me assignments. He forces me to shine and I try my best and then I do shine - inside and out.
But I forget things. I get confused. And some things he wants I've had troubled doing right. These aren't the writing assignments. These are... exercises. He is training me to serve in in ways I haven't till now and he has... requirements. And some of these things have eluded me. So eh keeps trying new approaches while I struggle and cry. He is a creative teacher and I drive him crazy but, while sometimes he's not so sure, in the long run he things I'm a prize, a treasure, and worth the effort.
So I surrendered long ago, but was failing. And then he rewrote his lesson plans yet again, and this time found the way to get through to my peculiar brain. And oh, I'm such a happy little poet slave, because it's working and now he calls me his VERY good girl and try not to let my memory of his being kind to me cloud my perception.
I blame it on his having been sick.
Dear Oatmeal Girl:
You are such a gorgeous girl! That explanation was so heart felt.
He sounds wonderful. To have persevered and found the way through, and there is a way through, for everybody. It's just a matter of unlocking the door with the right key.
But, let me share this with you. My mentor had to try various writing strategies with me, too. And, we hit on something that worked, and off I went, both of us happy as clams with the productivity.
Then, he got busy, and I slowed down, and I stopped doing much writing.
But, as I read your response, I realized something.
It wasn't *him* driving the writing, really. It was *me*. And, it is *I* that has allowed myself this rather long break. And, it is *I* who has to decide to be more disciplined about it. I waited, hoping he'd deliver a consequence, but it is *self* discipline he's after now!! SO, SO much harder!!
I'd adore being given a deadline, being threatened with some ghastly
consequence.
Maybe, maybe...if I beg?
Ah, Vesta, you make me laugh. Begging for discipline.
I read over what I wrote and realized I'd have been in for a hell of a beating if I had written like that for him. All those typos! I was tired... I should have proofread. I'm much better about it these days but I do slip up.
You say he is wonderful. And for me he definitely is. And he is smart and creative and all that good stuff. But never forget that he is a sadist. And he is training me to serve his own needs and desires.
Luckily, this turns out to be good for me as well.
As for ghastly consequences... [she shudders]
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