Spring is the time for blooming, but my petals remain furled. The media is constantly proving, I don’t fit the norms of this world. It’s all about your sex appeal, and who you’re gonna date. The pressure to conform is real, when the norm is to be straight. ‘I’m just a late bloomer,’ I think, after another year alone. Perhaps a visit to the shrink? Am I broken to the bone? Labels can enslave you, but I can see their wide appeal. When you finally have a breakthrough, you can then begin to heal. So don’t have an apoplexy, I’m not just shy or chaste. I just don’t find you sexy, because I am an Ace.