Soul: White Hot Dominatrix

6211027552_cf53ca7af8_bPrison in my throat. Heat and ache. Mouth open. Silent scream, tears instead. Sit facing the wall, not wiping my face but feeling the prickle, the itch, the urge to escape.

Demanding and rough, a blinding dominatrix who has her white hot way with me, a fierce whisper saying: This, this body belongs to me. Give me the soles of your feet and the expanse of your ribcage, give me your fingertips crackling, sparks flying, stopping for nothing.

Soul moves swiftly upward, claiming the crown. She is fire, blaze, smashing self-destruction and roughhousing skin border crossings on her way to creation.

She bangs on the door and breaks the locks, lets herself in by coming out through my mouth with an exhale that fills all the cramped rooms I’ve confined her to, her ancient exile a pile of rubbish to sweep to the pit.

She burns down the old houses of the hidden truths my grandmothers knew, the ones embedded in my cells since birth, the ones I’ve carried long enough.

Soul is like this: She translates no into yes, scatters the ashes of second-guesses, guides me through gardens that will grow wild in the broken places, the empty stations, neglected corners and deserted graces, the toppled stones of self-abandon.

Without a word she names my body her home: All the times I severed the rope between us once again forgiven, she softens and settles to the dark pelvic floor, the fields of muscle and bone where we finally rest, united. Breathing as one.

Image by Swiss photographer René Groebli

4 thoughts on “Soul: White Hot Dominatrix

  1. daniel says:

    this is very strong writing…..could be called a prose/poem I guess but this is just a category (maybe not worth much)………………have you considered writing short pieces or short stories…..putting out this energy in words, in images……….it is healing to read (and probably to write)…..we have such a culture that is starved from lack of full expression of feeling…..

    Like

    • Jena Strong says:

      Daniel, I have considered that. And I often find poetry weaving its way into my prose. Fiction, on the other hand–fuggedaboutit. I’ve tried :). That said, there is so much to write, and may it keep coming. Thank you for the comment–I’m glad you found it healing to read.

      Like

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