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!