Yes.

"Sure," you reply, leaning back in the chair. Her poetry may be horrible but the least you can do is listen politely, she seems so shy and almost; Wounded, you can't help but feel like you wish you could make her smile...

Lucy takes a few sheets of paper out of her briefcase and starts to read, her voice slightly distorted by her fringe of tentacles. "I await your touch, my lover, my master. You, whom I have never met, man, woman, alien, I know not. Without you my life is emptiness and pain; long days, longer nights, filled only by my studies and poems: scant touch, less speech. I dare not see the mirror, for it would crack. I know my face is an abomination, but scars would not improve it. Who will come? When? Why will they chose me when so many, more beautiful, parade before them? Are you he?" Lucy reads, then looks away her eyes filling with tears...