#it's...fine

J.D. referred to Turk as the love of his life. Totally forgot that happened. Night made. Fandom experience made. I can die happy, now.

The other day I went out in a skirt Instead of my usual workman’s pants, Though still with a flower-bedecked button-down shirt;

The flowers of my form flowed as fits the plants Enshrined upon it; made me light and free. Still my skin was made to crawl as though ants

Or wasps, instead of butterfly or bee, Had come to curl and cut away my leaves When disdainful glance or gawk I did see.

A stir of sad rage, and sighs my heart heaves; In new comforts still I find old, tender Wounds oozing, aching, which now my mind grieves.

How could I stay steady and not founder In promise to myself? How could I stand When so weak to judgment strangers render?

I feel as though I’m set upon some strand; The water, cold, laps my feet on one side, And heat at my back scorches barren land.

“Perhaps,” I think, “I could just retreat, bide My time until this age becomes kinder To us, and we no longer need to hide.”

How easily I could set a blinder Upon those gawking eyes with simple guise And steal away from all the world all wonder!

Maybe my ego grows to too great size That I think myself so distant, free of A culture built on loose tongues, watchful eyes;

It did teach me, after all, that to love Oneself was, perhaps, the gravest offense: You must be the worm and never the dove.

I do not care to mend the ancient fence That too long stood vigil over my thought, Strangling me beneath promise of defense;

Me after seeing Becky's model