As much as I want to feel loved, I don’t think I am lovable. I fall too fast and always, always end up Laying on the concrete with Blood in my hair. I have flaws, everyone does, but I’m always Afraid that you won’t love me, not the way I need you too. I’m terrified, like a cat in a Thunderstorm, that someone will Put up with me for a while Then leave. And I’ll be left to wash the rust out of my Hair and wipe the black and grey from under
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