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When you put yourself on the page, but it will never be good enough for anyone else, when your raw, bloody heart’s smashed into letters and words and paragraphs–can’t they see the gore still dripping? What more do they want?– and none of it matters?
When you put yourself on the page, but it will never be good enough for anyone else, when your raw, bloody heart’s smashed into letters and words and paragraphs–can’t they see the gore still dripping? What more do they want?– and none of it matters?
