A mystic goes in rumpled clothes

And neverminds the trousers,

But walks akin midst wrinkled skin

And knows the hope it houses.

And if my soul besets today upon you,

I'll picture you right here and don you,

And wear your heart as the flag of my disposition,

And squeeze your very organs from

Within the rib cage your heart beats in,

Then I will sit where you have sat

And look out of your eyes,

And not one shred of sympathy shall condescend,

But I will empathize

And join you in your feelings,

So nevermind the trousers.

-jenn