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.