Giggles and candy,
Little space.
Misbehaving and punishment,
Daddy moments.
Tired yawns and cartoons,
Sleepy baby.
Soft words and sweet dreams,
The sternness.
Wanting to be bad, but scared of the punishment.
Me.
Coloring and soft voices,
Triggers.
Stuffies and fluffy blankets,
Ways to get me out.
Yelling and cursing,
No more little space.
Sadness and anger,
Big Hanna comes back out.
Color and sing,
Is what little Hanna does.
Pouts and whines,
Moments in little space.
Wishing to have a daddy, but instead,
Having a dom friend.
Which is amazing,
Don’t get me wrong.
He makes me happy,
And little Hanna safe.
She comes when sad or happily triggered.
She likes pink and big shirts, or hoodies.
She likes soft music and coloring.
She likes her hair down and chewing on her sleeve.
She likes drawing on herself and humming.
She likes Spongebob and jumping,
Forehead kisses and talking.
This is little space,
For me.
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She loves her life, yet hates her own selfish desires.
she cant live without, but cant help but to peer out the window.
I live on the same plain as this poem feeds its form. I sympathize to the emotions; confusion, love, anger, boredom. all of it. Never go so far as to lose the muse. As the lyrics call, “We’ve come so far, but in the end, does it even matter.”
This piece is beautiful. I am almost ashamed I read it, taking in a piece so important.