You call her he
But I call her a woman you'll never get the likes of. Curves, perfume, makeup, purses, glitter. So much fucking glitter. Little reminder of her love for me stuck on my skin till the end of time.
You call her my master
I could only be so lucky to be owned by a woman like her. You will never know the joy of this quality of relationship or of possessing someone so completely.
You call her offensive
I call her a champion, an advocate, brave, the opposite of your narcissistic, victim self. She'd lay herself down for anyone worthy. Hell, she wouldn't even care if you're worthy. She's that good of a person.
You call her aggressive
I call her passionate about making sure everyone knows about predators like you. She takes shit from no one. Carries a big stick AND a heart of gold.
I call you a creeper, a martyr, nothing really. Not worth the amount of time and energy I've spent on you.
I call her my Beloved. My everything. Keeper of my heart and soul. Ma'am, baby, goof troop. The woman who I will spend the rest of my life with.