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I wear lightning strikes on my hips and thighs as battle scars to remind me who I am, and what I have overcome.
Querida Mama, I hope one day I will be brave enough. Enough to tell you that I see your pain and although at times I have been ungrateful to you. You who have know me my whole life
What do you see,When you look in the mirror?You see you,And I see me.We are different,That is perfect,And how it's supposed to be.
In the night, she woke in various states of detachment. Real was not real; what is real? Reality? Such a permanent thing, to be thought of as only living In the day, but why?