Isn't it funny,

I can convince myself I deserve roses and songs and grand gestures and all the little sweet things,
I can convince myself that I won’t settle for anything less.
But, none of that seems to matter with you.
I worship at your feet that could kick me away a hundred times,
Bruised ribs and skin raw,
I’d come crawling back to you each time.
I’d give everything I own to touch your sweet lips
Or look at that smile;
You could chew me to pieces and spit me out
And I’d still want nothing more than you.
Isn’t it funny that I’d choose to be treated like **** in your arms
Than to be in the arms of someone who would worship me.

None of it matters when it comes to you.

(a.g.)