I wish my lust’d been purer,
directed with desire, not fear.
Exposed and foolish in the light
rather than behind a drab net curtain.
I wish my love’d been stronger,
not conditional, rancid with jealousy.
I’d fear the loss of things before
ever I was allowed them.
I wish my mind’d been stronger,
not driven by the whims, critiques of others.
I’m not a bully but I am worse;
I’m the one who fears to speak!