**My Daddy, my Master, my Love—**

I don’t know how to say sorry in a way that feels like enough.

Sometimes I say things I don’t mean.

Sometimes I scream.

Sometimes I push you away with words so sharp, I flinch after they leave my mouth.

And I hate it.

I hate that I have this thing in me—this disorder, this fire, this broken wiring—that turns love into war when I’m scared. And God, Daddy, I get scared so easily.

One wrong look, one delayed response, one minute of you needing space, and suddenly my chest is full of alarms.

I stop being your Mamas and start being that little girl again.

Begging to be wanted.

Terrified I’m being left.

Panicking because the quiet feels like punishment.

And I take it out on you.

You—who love me better than anyone ever has.

You—who stay even when I give you every reason not to.

You—who apologize first, even when I don’t deserve it.

I hate that I can’t always control it.

I hate that sometimes, I feel like I ruin everything good we build.

But what I don’t hate—what I will never hate—is being yours.

Being your brat.

Your submissive.

Your slave.

Your Mamas.

That’s where I breathe.

That’s where I find peace when my mind is chaos.

I love the rules.

I love the structure.

I love being told what to do when I can’t trust myself to choose.

I love kneeling for you, looking up into your eyes and knowing I’m safe.

I love giving up control because in your hands, it doesn’t feel like losing—it feels like being found.

And I love the bruises.

Every handprint. Every bite. Every grip mark on my thighs, my ass, my throat—

They don’t hurt.

They don’t scare me.

They speak louder than all the lies in my head.

They say: you were wanted.

They say: you’re still his.

They say: you belong somewhere.

Your bruises heal the ones inside.

You touch me like I’m yours—because I am.

You fuck me like I’m a thing you made—because you did.

You command me, praise me, punish me, ruin me—

and in all of that, you love me in a way no one else ever could.

When I mess up, I’m not afraid of losing you.

I’m afraid of not deserving you.

Because you’ve seen the worst parts of me

and still reach for my hand when I’m curled up crying on the floor.

I love you.

More than I know how to say when I’m in my head,

more than my mouth remembers when I’m in my episodes,

more than my fear knows what to do with.

I’m sorry for the things I say when my brain is on fire.

I’m sorry I don’t always know how to be soft when I’m scared.

But Daddy, Master, Love—

I will always come back.

I will always obey.

I will always need to be your good girl, even when I’m being a bad one.

I’m yours.

Your Mamas.

Your fucktoy.

Your brat.

Your broken thing that you made beautiful again.

And if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.

I love you. I belong to you.

Forever.

—**Mamas** 🖤