If I didn't care who loved me, then I would wear my hair any old way, curled, ******* in knots, shaved, I would try a new style every six months if I could.

I would be fat one year just to see how that felt, and see if I could get back down to skinny again.

I would dress up in costume and wander through town singing loudly operatic.

I might speak at an open mic, publish my poems that didn't sound too good, laugh more at things I thought were funny, not worry if things were cool or chic or hip or fire.

I would enjoy the sun for just what it is, a great glowing ball of fire.

I could be content in my skin and comfort others struggling with surviving because they can't see their own value in the eyes of all the others