Because I’ve long associated it with the notion of domestic abuse. Because it rests wrapped around his waist and all I ever think about is having it wrapped around me. Because of the sound it makes when he pulls it out of the loops in one swift motion as I lay in anticipation. Because it hurts and it all just comes down to pain with me.
Because I am envious of the ground they walk on.
Because I believe the only thing they were meant to tread upon is me. Because they are rough and well-used. Because of how degraded I feel when their dirty soles crush my face. Because of how sick it is when I believe I belong beneath them.
Because of the music of their unrelenting clanging. Because I want to be his prisoner even though I claim my freedom is what I cherish most of all. Because of the weight of carrying them on me. Because I cannot be shackled with something so seemingly flimsy as scarves or rope. Because they are cold and unyielding.
Because he is a hunter and I like knowing that. Because I never want to forget that he can actually kill me. Because there will be bloodshed. Because the blade will take on the temperature of my body and so will he. Because of the scars that will always decorate and desecrate my being.
The Toe Rings
Because they force me to conform to a tradition that makes absolutely no sense. Because they remind me that I actually say the words, “My body belongs to you.” Because the area beneath them is permanently scarred in the form of their existence. Because they are cheap and that is what I deserve. Because no one knows that aesthetics aren’t the reason I never take them off.
His Wire Flogger
Because it made me say that I wasn’t a masochist any more. Because I am actually scared of it yet all the while I crave its cruel bite. Because he made it with his own sadistically sociopathic hands. Because it makes me cry and beg like nothing else in the world. Because it’s for me and that’s not a good thing.
Because he doesn’t really need it for life, work or anything but torture. Because every time I see it all I think of is being tied up in the back. Because of all the abduction that has taken place in its allegedly safe confines. Because it is old and beat up and can fall apart anytime. Because the sound of the doors sliding shut only means one thing.
Because it hits me square in the lip each time his swings his fist at me. Because that’s the only reason he wears it. Because it is permanently etched with my blood. Because it means nothing at all yet causes so much pain. Because it’s been inside every orifice I have.
His Violet Wand
Because no matter how many times he uses it on me I will still be terrified. Because electricity will always make me pee in my pants. Because I called it a hard limit once and he scoffed at me. Because he uses it to hurt me when I disappoint or anger him.
Because his fists are my version of therapy. Because I sometimes still cannot believe that he is real. Because he really, truly deserves to be locked up. Because of his sweet, soft tone of voice when he is doing horrible things to me. Because I wear him all over my body. Because he camps in my head and revels in its disturbia.
Because he hurts me, and that means he loves me.