If you were to ask,
In your echoed voice,
For your simple task,
“Would you change, given the choice?”
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