A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

The scenes never quite hit the spot, 
and in my (in)experience, I couldn’t 
quite work out why. A disappointment
afterwards, and yet somehow I knew
it wasn’t sub drop. And as I sit here,
now, in the depths of the real drop,
I see the submission was never complete
because my subconscious never trusted you
enough to hand over everything
and I never reached subspace. The yield
within a scene was entirely self-serving,
to meet my own needs instead of
serving yours and trusting you to know mine. 
Do you see the irony? In consensual kink 
I held back, because you were unable
to offer me a worthy master; yet in real life,
you’ve used me as your toy, your slave,
and I foolishly submitted without knowing better.
And the pain and humiliation of the truth 
cuts deeper than any play, and I 
have safeworded over and over,
only to be ignored and gaslighted, 
and this is the difference between kink
and abuse, and there is no aftercare
in this 24/7 dynamic.  These so-called efforts
are merely afterthought. Four stems
of indigo blooms do nothing
to tend my wounds and reassure me
that I was a good girl, and you know
the privilege it is to have had me cede my power
to you. I wonder if you’ll realise
the quality of your loss, and I wonder
if the next victim on whom you set your sights
will see the dangers that I couldn’t. 
I have learned the hard way that I can rely on you
neither for safe play nor respect nor aftercare,
so this particular scene is over.
Don’t expect me to come back begging for more.