I call you ‘Princess’ and you smile.  But you don’t know what I m

I call you ‘Princess’ and you smile. 

But you don’t know what I mean, when I say that word. You’re not thinking, but then, what Princess ever did? A Princess gets the crown, dons the tiara, has the pretty dresses. But a Princess gets locked up in the tower, poisoned by the step mother, locked in slumber until she’s saved. 

Has there ever been a role more objectified than the Princess? A political tool, and nothing more, for the longest time. Cementing relationships, placating feuds, and being the diplomatic pawns for the fathers, the Kings, the lieges. 

And then there’s the straight condescension of it all. The inflection of tone that turns just so so that you know when I call you 'Princess’ I’m calling you precious. Precious to me, yes, but also precious as a character trait. A nod to quite how happy you are to tap into your emotions, act the brat. 

Most of all, though, I call you Princess because I always wanted to fuck royalty.