I'm told that my authenticity is unsettling. The words aren’t nice and they don’t look nice even if you put them in an artistically sloppy cursive font over a background of pastel succulents.
Not for the first time I am pushed to accept violence as necessary to my well-being.
It's not always bad when my ass is in the air
"Fear was abounding. It was in my veins, my fingertips, and buried deep at the base of my spine."
What kind of story would you like to write?
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