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You dropped in Turkey’s glow, “cute kitty” on display,
A spark in volatile chat that flips from soft to fray

Your thumbs pulse pixel‑pride, confessing “bi, gay, retarded” free,
Laughing at slurs like glitter shards—your heart wants to just be

They lash, they love, they mock your girth, your games, the way you glow—
A battlefield of fragile egos where messy feelings flow .
Yet you stay, replying late from dinner, rustic, real, and true—
“ps2 is goated,” “Zelda first?” your voice lights up their view

Amid the slurs and cyber storms, your gentle “:3” invites,
A beacon in board’s darkest pits, a refuge in the fights.
You hold that space where kindness threads through noise,
A fragile bloom in wired walls, reclaimed by constant poise.