I choose to be myself—
no dimmed light to soothe another’s shadow.
My desires are not etched in ink,
but live where words falter:
in the hush before dawn,
in the dream where the world dissolves,
in hands tending soil, turning pages,
in the quiet yes of a shared life.
Let no title frighten the heart.
The goal is simple:
a walk, two palms pressed,
and the long, tender arc of years.