Again, Writing Is My Albatross

Photo Credit: Pxhere

I wrote the first version of this a long time ago. I recall a similar feeling overcoming me at the time, as I once again found the words within myself to say what I felt. Rarely do my post intentionally never reblogged by me, as I try to give reruns to the people who don’t want to dig too deep, and new material for the ones that have never seen it. 

This piece — it was never shown twice. 

It represented a very painful day for me, so why bother reminding people, or so I thought. I didn’t even tag this one, intentionally hoping it would get lost in a sea of 5K other posts. 

I recall the outreach that day. The support.

It is ironic I suppose that every single word below could have been written today and would 

, though I remember that day in September very well. I could barely see straight for more minutes at a time, not unlike my 

Short-lived be the hiatus; writing I fear is the albatross around my neck.

My inner voice put into words and then cast into the unknown, daily I pen my thoughts effortlessly, never unable to transcribe how I feel inside into written form.

My gift and my curse.

You see, I feel.

I feel everything. I feel passion for life and love. I feel passion and love for romance and a connection. I feel love for parenting. I feel love for my family. I feel a passion for excellence and hard work. I feel pain and suffering, immensely. I feel when others suffer. I feel anger. I feel prayers.

I feel the love of the people that read this blog and pains that they go through. I feel it when they reach out. I feel when they feel. I feel a kinship to the people in my life that care. I feel the void, as I do now, of the person that cares most. I feel like not talking about that part though.

My ability to feel everything has always been present, even as a child and in adolescence, and anybody who knows me, knows this thing about me very well. The better you know me; the more you know it.

They recognize that above most others who they know, they can see that I am alive inside.

Alive, in a way that most of their men just are not. Never indifferent. Never emotionless. Never, ever lacking passion, for whatever it is.

I would rather die than be apathetic.

I may carry a masculine torch in life with a calm and dependable demeanor, but I never once would assume weakness and showing emotion are similar things. They are quite the opposite in fact. It takes bravery to be vulnerable and expressive. I am in many ways blessed for that I feel so profoundly and am fortunate enough to know how to express it. Not always is it a blessing though.

My curse — my gift — is that I write about it.

I always write about what I feel, whether I want to or not. If I try not to, I just end up writing anyway. Just like I am right now.

My albatross — my horrifically painful burden — is not that I write about what I feel, but it is that somebody else has to read it.

This, above anything else, is my stupid fucking albatross.

Some days, like today, I just wish I could kill my bird.

I don’t write for the readers per se; I do it for me, and for her. I am never seeking vindication or even a mention of what I wrote. It’s for the moment in which I publish when a sense of relief becomes of me.

A piece of me given away for a peace of me.

This anonymous forum is my Ancient Mariner; my Rime is my words.

Most often, I write about what I feel through the prism of a D/s lens because I have found in life that this is the pinnacle of the concept of feeling. When she gifts her emotional and physical submission to me, I feel emotions in the highest order, felt most as I exert my Dominance over her, and I witness in her an equal feeling of complete and total bliss.

Every conversation with her leading up until this point grows me closer to her, all so that I may express myself in the purest form known to man, an absolute passion and unfiltered admiration for her very existence. Our bond solidified in the physical manifestation of the feelings that we carry in these very moments.

I see D/s intimacy as the apex of feeling in life.

I am found, upon devoting my physical form to express myself to the one I feel most for, in the way that is most passionate. Upon making her body and mind experience the most unbelievable euphoria she will ever know, all driven from the ambition of my feel for her.

Reading this shit gets girls panties wet.

This makes my inner monologue alluring to a certain segment of the population, seeing the emotional formation of the most true side of a capable and loving man, decorated with intellect in the fuck-me-please range and sarcasm to make you giggle when you shouldn’t.

An undeniable adeptness at breaking a woman down physically through a plethora of orgasms like few men if any have ever done to most my readership — I paint these pictures to let them know that this world is very real and it does exist, and to never settle for less because you only get one life so live it right.

This passion that I write of is why my blog gains thousands of new followers every month. New viewers into the intimate and perverted mind of a man who just downright feels for life.

But remember, my curse is that I write about what I feel, and sometimes what I feel is not something I want to feel.

My pen is my heart.

There is no other driver. Everything else, from readership, counts to interactivity is secondary at best.

As said a million times now, I write about what I feel. Be it love for working hard, the passion for the fire within single moms, the alpha woman, the disdain for emotionless and selfish weak men, and yes, most often the power I gain when I stare right into the eyes of my submissive woman as I shove my hard cock right up inside her and watch her shudder in orgasmic elation.

Nevertheless, every word I write here is always written with my heart.

But today, in this very moment as I write this, debating on whether or not I post it, for the very first time in my life, I just would rather be a person who doesn’t feel at all. Anything at all. Nothing.

Who is incapable of feeling. I wish I were that guy right now.

Unfortunately though for me, I’ve never felt more emotions in my life.

I wish so bad I could kill my albatross. I wish I didn’t have to write. But I do because it is who I am and that part I just have to live with.

One day, I hope I never write again. Some days, like this one, it is just so painful to do it. I am not strong enough today to carry this albatross; it is just so heavy.

But rather than try and convince myself to do what I know I cannot do anyways, my albatross will be my new best friend since that position is vacant now.

So I will write.

I will write and continue to write and let it flow and flow and keep on flowing. The tone may change a little for a while or maybe forever somewhat.

The D/s words may become more of a past tense verse unless the unthinkable happens and I write towards the future again. When I articulate my passion for feeling you and not what you felt like, which was like heaven.

For now, I will just keep on feeding my albatross.


Note: blog is live again, including Asks, messages, et cetera.

Originally published at The Romantic Dominant.