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I invented myself as the possibility of acceptance. Too many people have found my front. My criticisms and judgements have hurt too many I love, even though the callous voice in my head continues to tell me I can't ever love. I breathe it, I think it with every thought. My excuse as being part fey, part unfeeling have fluttered. I have only myself to confront. Stripped of my faerie wings, my masks, my playfulness, I am worried; will you love me back?
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