(I love this poem of mine so much that I’ve decided to self-publish it rather than try my luck submitting it elsewhere.)
Leather
Pardon the choice of words that now dot my paper,
The blood, the touching, the warm and the wet.
Pardon the documents that now flood my computer,
“Sexuality”, “Eroticism”, and whatnot. I’ve set
Free of my pen that used to be a horse trapped
In the stable, munching non-stop on the same hay
Pushed beneath its nose, labeled “orthodoxy”,
Before throwing off its rein at the dawn of a new day.
Pardon me! I beg you not to get me wrong;
Never had I ever denied my past as a writer.
Rather, when my own desires emerged as enemies,
I chose to be their friend and not a fighter.
A chaste maiden I’d been, innocence I’d penned plenty,
My own words I’ll never ditch; it’s just that I’ve found
Better ones - pearls do gleam and silks do glimmer,
Yet neither kindles my fire like leather unbound.
Gone were the closets that housed my skeletons,
Gone were the struggles, the self-doubts, the shame;
Here in my hand is my whip made of leather,
And like its nine tips with my past I now part ways.
Pardon my high profile you mistake as haughtiness,
Pardon what goes beyond the birds and the bees,
Pardon the ring of O that huddles my finger,
Pardon my leather, - pardon me please!
Or perhaps “pardon” is not the correct word;
We need not be forgiven for we’ve done nothing wrong.
What we need is respect and empathy and comfort,
We who, against fear and hatred, try to stay strong.
To anyone and everyone who loves leather:
Hold fast to your whips, and join hands, and sing a song -
We’re just kinky people doing kinky things together
And build, in a harsh world, a haven where we belong.
