(aka Home
aka Dear Skrubs, love, your Skrubqueen)

We have made a home
in each other's oddities,
hidden our frustrations
in foreign language.
Together,
we danced Moskau
and sang worship songs
and played Red Sun.

I, for one,
have embraced my sadness
with your presence.
In your loyalty,
I found acceptance.

Dear Skrubs,
I have made a home
in your antics
and pranks
and laughter.
In shared food
and secrets,
I have known love.

We are potatoes
and potatoes are us
(or perhaps that's just me).

But you have hailed me
your Skrubqueen with the potato heart.
No power any license I earn
will ever win me that.