Lost in the Wrong Role

He kneels, he waits, he longs to be bound,
To serve, to please, to worship the ground.
Yet time and again, the script is flipped,
His leash stays loose, his power gripped.

They call him strong, they crave his hands,
They beg, “Take charge, fulfill demands!”
But he recoils, his heart sinks low,
“No, not me—I kneel, I bow.”

He whispers “Mistress”—they laugh, they sigh,
“No, darling, I need a man to guide.”
They push him back, they bare their skin,
“Take control, now dive right in!”

But control is weight, a heavy chain,
A burden wrapped in silent pain.
He seeks surrender, sweet and deep,
A place to fall, to lose, to weep.

He dreams of cuffs, of firm commands,
Of knowing he’s in Her hands.
But every touch, each longing kiss,
Turns him into what he isn’t.

He walks alone, still searching wide,
For the one who’ll take his pride.
Not as a force, not as a king,
But as a man who craves Her reign.