Prude. Censuring. Perfect little girl.
Am I a prude when I dislike foul words?
And promiscuity is not something I adore:
But how can I be perfect if you claim that I’m a churl?
I love beauty, and revel in pretty things.
I joyfully acknowledge the passing people in the street,
And savor the stranger I won’t again meet.
In him is encapsulate the beauty that life brings.
I am too harsh with myself,
For it is me who calls me names.
And makes of myself these negative claims.
And so my finer sensibilities I store on a shelf;
I pull out a short tight skirt,
And start to drink, smoke,
As on ‘coolness’ I choke,
While silent tears drop down on my shirt.
I am more alone than ever,
Though mixed in with others,
Forgetting the love of the almighty Brother,
Who vowed his love on a cross, never severed.
So hurting now, my faith almost broken,
And hope wavering like a flicker of light,
I return to my Lord, I call in his sight,
And ‘you are beloved’, are the words he has spoken.
When Christ looks, it is beauty he sees,
For I am beautiful, I am unique,
I am not perfect, I am a geek,
And that’s okay, because that’s me!