You might be used to being asked.
Or possibly,
requests submitted like paperwork
onto a cluttered desk.
Never to be answered.
Maybe lesser men don’t care.
You might be used to coddling.
Holding patterns and
Circular conversations that don’t
Accomplish anything meaningful.
Maybe lesser men don’t care.
You’re probably not used to
Being forced.
Being broken.
Being reshaped and molded
Held, and beholden
To this token rope that
Signifies
You no longer as you were,
But rather what I have released in you.
You might not be used to
This.
Me.
But your smiles as you kneel
And give in with enthused grins
And shivering glee…
Maybe lesser men don’t care…
But I’m no lesser man.
