Twice in one week,
Then never before;
Have I stayed hidden that long?
I think no o'er has seen me more;
I've made myself too meek.

Yet here I am again,
Making it all about the bad.
She accepted me for who I was;
She did not grow fearful, disquieted, mad,
To her I was a person, not a sinful stain.

In at least one place,
That store on the high-street,
I can be what I am, who I want to be.
She was someone I was happy to meet
For she wasn't disgusted to see my face.