I've gotten a couple of busted lips,
bruised hips,
migraines, headaches...
Insults,
sarcastic compliments,
and maybe even a single armed hug every other Wednesday.

But no I love you,
I respect you, or I want you.

No initiation to put forth love and express affection.

"Stubborn as a bull", I say to you as I climb your trunk and grab onto your horns.
Can't get away from your demons, can't hear my angels cries.

Throw me into the wall, call me wrong for feeling it.
Reject my wishes, and shame me for wanting something more.

But I weigh it all out and I'm just 7 lbs too few, and I need more.

Because I got too comfortable in your violent mind.