Don't tell me I'm pretty.
I'm not interested in hearing
how beautiful you think my eyes are,
or how you could listen to my
voice for hours.
I don't need gentle, sweet or kind.
Instead I'll be begging for bruises
on my thighs and scratches down my back,
fingertips pressed into my throat.
Make me completely give in to
your artificial affection.
I need to know this isn't real.