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Prisoner of The Mind, Part 1


Awakening, my mind felt its way around the room using my eyes as hands and feet. I was then confronted by the vibrant neon green digits on the wall clock which read 6:37 AM. The sun crept into the room by playing peek-a-boo, forcing itself through the slithers between the vertical blinds hanging from the ceiling. I could have been laying in a cave for as crisp as the air was, or for as damp and clammy as the sheets were. Still and in utter darkness, I feel a figure beside me who shamelessly exposes the smooth grooves of his masculine frame. He is solid, secure, thick skinned. Despite the deep, violent snarls erupting from his trembling lips, he is harmless. He did in fact come in peace and with ease.



Even in peace, my ego takes anxiety by the hand and says ruin it. With orders followed, the internal questioning ensues.


My heart feels at home, but where is my mind?


Anxiety forged a one sided conversation by asking a question that my heart would have loved to answer. Therein lies the biggest reason for specificity. I had to hold myself accountable for inquiring about the wandering mind, and not the heart's security. Though mighty, matters of the heart aren't as dangerous or exciting and certainly don't smell as sweet as the dried nectar between my fingers.


My mind was still and in utter darkness, where I was free to be the object of his desire. I had the courage to withstand the pain of his acceptance. He loved every inch of my imperfect canvas, and orchestrated the most artful showcase. I was his amusement.


He taught me how to swim, to dance, to sing, to paint while he watched me, only his breath on my neck. The world completely out of the equation. He was the director and the audience. I was the muse meant for his musings. He showed me with his bare body how to interpret art and how to be art. I trusted him to carry me into the deep end without letting me down to drown.


We danced atop waves with our limbs intertwined. We practiced balancing the shift of weight on his memory foam California king mattress. We composed and decoded compelling lyrics while singing in glass shattering octaves. The gentle giant softened his touch as he was determined to match the rhythm of my flow. We feverishly consumed the juices of forbidden fruit. Still and in utter darkness, I hung from his vine, inspired yet reluctant to accept his invitation to plunge into uncharted territory. Waters were raging, and I couldn't decipher if his smile was deceit or delightful, but I took a chance. I let go. The warmth and fullness of his welcome inspired the sweet hum of falsettos. Our movement similar to synchronized swimmers, coordinated an improvised combination. All of our parts fell into place. With bellies full of forbidden fruit juices, and lungs full of blueberry haze, we belted in unison, chorusing pure bliss, melted in our bodily maze. I was now in command of the very waters he led me to. I let him lead me...


That's where my mind was; still and in utter darkness. The neon green digits vibrantly project 6:56 AM, and I have yet to clothe myself and go.


Why haven't I left yet? Because I secretly want to see how he gathers himself after the night I put him through.


Why haven't I gotten up to leave yet? Maybe because I'm enticed by the idea of morning sex. Or perhaps I secretly want to engage in playful banter like battle of the morning breath while we get dressed for a pancake breakfast I have zero business having.


Why haven't I moved? Gravity wasn't a factor while we danced in the still and utter darkness, but here I lay, rendered motionless in the comfort of his bed. Trying to grasp a reality that was both conjured and destroyed within hours. Clinging to the oxymoronic notion of our affair being a calculated risk. Our indulgence cannot happen frequently, because I can't imagine subjecting myself to such a pure connection. I don't want him even though he's every bit of good for me. I manifest perfection and I deprive myself from it.


I believe in myself to neither be enslaved by emotions, nor a prisoner of the mind.

I don't know where I am, or where my identity lies.


....to be continued.

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