We gather in silence, screens full of light,
Trying to serve, to write, to obey what feels right.
But outside our rituals, outside our games,
There’s a weight in the world we cannot name.

The Dommes feel it too, though they stand so tall,
Their hands still steady, their voices still call.
But behind their strength is a flicker of strain,
A quiet endurance, a trace of pain.

And the subs who kneel, who ache to please,
Now fight off fear on hands and knees.
The joy feels distant, the laughter thin,
The darkness sometimes finds its way in.

We’re not okay. None of us are.
Not the boys in cages, nor the queens who spar.
Not the ones who lead, or those who yield—
We all have scars not fully healed.

But this is not the end of the song.
We have each other, and we are strong.
We write, we post, we serve, we play,
We lift each other, day by day.

Like all hard things, this too will pass,
The cold will thaw, the storm won’t last.
We’ll build again, with care, with grace,
A stronger, softer, fiercer place.

We’re not okay. Not yet. Not now.
But we’ll get through it—we’ll remember how.
The love we live, the bonds we see,
Will carry us forward.

We will be.