Michaela's Musings

I have a soft spot for the name Danny. Don’t ask why. I couldn’t explain it if I tried. I’ve always loved words and the ways they take up space. How some stuff your mouth with marbles, while others roll off the tongue smooth as sweet vermouth. Kind of like Danny. It’s a soft name. One anyone can take and make their own. There’s a little joy in the way my face scrunches up, a smile breaking across my face as I call out this sugar spun name. The way my voice goes up an octave as I draw out the final sweet syllables, denoting my affection.  Danny is the sweet cream sliding down my throat. The trail of kisses down my thighs. Bubbling giggles erupting from feather light tickles. Destined to be loved by me. XOXO, Michaela

i think about him. what it could/should/would be like. to hold his hand, to lean down and hug him. maybe even tilt his chin up to kiss him. i think about him. he was always sentimental. lingering when others were long gone.  what would it feel like? his mouth, fingers, and tongue? nimble and rushed or torturous and slow? i've only heard snippets. about pleasure and domination. of someone who enjoyed taking charge. but as far as i know, he's cuffed. so i'll continue to keep my distance.  while he lingers in the back of my mind. XOXO, Michaela

I never liked religion. The self-flagellation and force-feeding of beliefs. But most of all? It reminds me of my relationship with my mother. Kind and giving when satisfied. But any hint of disloyalty? Any allegiance to others or yourself is met with rage. Your self-confidence—once golden and plentiful—withers away. Your reservoir of joy now dried up. Those gentle embraces become harsh words with even harsher hands. And before you know it, you’re on your knees begging. Prayers become pleas to a creator who won’t answer. And I don’t know the solution. No magical words or ritual to make her come back. No arguing with something, someone so absorbed in their own power, they can’t see the child they have forsaken. So all you can do now is get up off your knees and leave. She may be your mother, but she is not your master. XOXO, Michaela