If you were to ask,

In your echoed voice,

For your simple task,

 “Would you change, given the choice?”

No. 

No, not even if you had said,

Like white-noise in my head,

That all will adore, 

“If thou’st abhor’d”,

One single aspect of myself.

I have bled, bruised, coughed and sputtered,

In my vulnerability, my ego fluttered,

And I am not sorry for it.

Not one molecular bit. Damn it.

I love myself, and I can rightfully say,

That the white noise is not loud enough to change me,

No dollar. No bill.

No gold, and no gilded illusion,

will ever make me different