if you admitted that actually,
some babies are ugly, if you admitted
you once called in sick at work saying
your dog had broke its leg when it hadn’t,
or that you secretly wished for a disorder
so you’d have an excuse for the way you act.

I wouldn’t think any less of you
if you told me you were growing a little
pretentious about butter after watching
a Youtube video of this old French
place and its old French butter-making ways
which seemed mesmerizing and romantic.

I wouldn’t think any less of you
if you said you couldn’t respect your alcoholic
cousin, or if you said you don’t think
you loved her anymore but you visit anyway
to spend time with her arthritic border collie
and to make your uncle happy.

I wouldn’t think any less of you
if you stole from Walmart and refused
to use their self-checkout because
you’re not going to provide free labor
to increase their profits when they  
won’t pay their employees a living wage.

I wouldn’t think any less of you
if you wished you were queer because men
can be so scary, that you’re tired
of calculating which seem to be humans,
and which monsters, while you’re out
looking for someone to love.

I wouldn’t think any less of you
if you were near phobic of herringbone,
or that when that certain county song
comes on over the ceiling speakers,
you walk out of the restaurant or grocery
store to wait until it’s over.

I wouldn’t think any less of you
if you said you weren’t afraid to die,
that the idea of quietly sleeping in the dirt
wrapped in a quilt your momma made
is an alright end to your story, that you don’t really
expect you’ll miss anyone, not even me.