I can not be an /artist/, and not produce artistic things, or speak in a manner which might [not] incite emotion. If this is not what one wants from me, then it is not I, but she.

I choose to “Be”. If that existence ends tomorrow, then, at least I have not compromised what once was “me”. Never have I, nor shall I ever be such a piece of insignificant, pliable dirt; clay, to shape this, or that way.

(expletives, certainly, w/ some kind of F-words!)

It’s all misunderstanding, and hasty conclusions, and …. well, i know that you are at least as familiar with the rest of such stories, Sis.
And what’s wrong with this? And what’s wrong with that? And perhaps, it’s all a kiss could want, or need to fix. I have no sympathy; no sense of urgency for mending these pseudo/ fabricated nonsensical stones and sticks.