It's not your looks that draw me to you.
It's not your charm.
It's not your clever banter.
It's not your quick wit.
It's the spark you get in your eye
when I'm tied. Beaten. Broken.
It's the laughter with the lash.
Happiness when hurt.
Content when bound.
It's the glee from my struggle to accept
who I am.
That I'm far from normal.
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