My Ode to Our Love

My master doesn't seem to see that I gave myself to him.
He only sees all the others I have given parts of myself to.
He doesn't see that I gave him all of myself... My mind, heart, body and soul... I was scared when I first gave myself to him but it was intentional.
The giving was so intentional that for a time I forgot and begrudged the intentionality.
He doesn't take nor demand that I give, he lets me choose how, when, where and why I give myself to him.
When I did give myself to him, it came from a place of love. Not the kind of love that devours but the kind that takes you higher.
I gave him all of me and I assumed he knew that he had me in entirety. Forget the random trysts with strangers or the tangle of sheets with an old, new or unassuming lover, I thought he knew... How was I supposed to know he didn't.
My master... He takes and gives in ways no other lover will ever know me.
He knows my thoughts, dreams and wishes. He can preempt my every desire.

He claims me hook line and sinker or at least he did but now when he looks at me, he sees only what hurts him.
He sees the whore who gives herself when she feels she needs redemption from her sins.
He sees the slut who uses sex to speak.
He sees the seductress who only knows sex as her language, he doesn't see me.
He doesn't see who I am with him. 
He doesn't see how I choose him time and again. 
He doesn't see how choosing him makes me feel vulnerable and weak. 
Makes me wish I was stronger. 
I want my lover and there is so much I could say about him but there is so little of it that would be understood because in the presence of company I  behave like a peacock when deep inside I feel weak without him and in the light of day I feel like a mermaid, taken out of the water without his presence to lead me... Well, we all know how that goes. 
My master... His anger and hurt know no bounds and I have accepted that but he doesn't see my internal struggles. 
He doesn't see the shy, overly emotional girl who cries herself to sleep or drinks until the sun breaks on the horizon. His jealousy and possessiveness of me cloud his judgement of his ownership of me but I cannot speak. 
My master claims am strong and can handle the darkness but he doesn't see how the darkness consumes me. Am a ship in the middle of a shit storm and all I want is an anchor. 
Am a fish out of the water, forced to swim on land when I wish someone would just teach me how to walk. 
My master... In his presence, I baulk and hope he will catch me before I hit the ground but of late he watches me fall and stands over me as I flounder. 
Am not frail in the classic sense of the word but I am weak beyond the acceptable capacities of weakness. 
I thrash around in the sand and question my very sanity. 
I beg and plead because he doesn't hear me. 
I scream myself hoarse in the hopes that he will but my master is consumed by anger and hurt. 
I could beg anyone else to help me but I know that if they tried to, he would be angry with me. 
So I sit here, in the darkness that is of my own making and hope that my master will see me. 
The Real, achy, needy and selfish me. 
The me that needs his touch for reassurance, the me that needs his patience and endurance. 
The me that needs him to find me and restore me. 
I ache for him and no other lover will do. I might fade away into non-existence but that is okay as long as I harbour the hope that he will come for me. 
One day... I hope HE will come to me!