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Her sweet, blissful assumption, that I am still naive. If only she knew that the coat of innocence tore long ago, although she wrapped it tightly around my slender shoulders.
Men do not like covered women.
Women do not like covered women.They tugged at every garment I wore until they peeled away my skin, until I stood raw and bare on the street, like a ghost in a chaotic, busy town; judged, because- I must have done something to deserve my egregious fate.
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The Beauty Of Imperfection | a poetry collection
PoetryA poetry collection about the emotions and thoughts I have as I go through the journey of growth and accepting the imperfections, in me and in my poetry. It is all about searching for meaning in what seems mundane at first glance, and seeing the b...