I've always been a keeper of secrets, a falling apart pirate chest filled with old memories and faces and kisses disguised as golden coins. I've seen this done, and I think I want to try it.
Please, just post anonymously (that's the only condition).
Tell me anything. A secret. Something you might have wanted to say to me. Something you might have wanted to say to someone else. A sin. A Triumph. A crush. A lust. Something. Anything. Everything. Tell me something. Give me something to ponder, exclaim over, become inspired by or even maybe cry to when I come home after the sun is beyond my sky. Share with me, and I promise, I'll share with you.
Please, just post anonymously (that's the only condition).
Tell me anything. A secret. Something you might have wanted to say to me. Something you might have wanted to say to someone else. A sin. A Triumph. A crush. A lust. Something. Anything. Everything. Tell me something. Give me something to ponder, exclaim over, become inspired by or even maybe cry to when I come home after the sun is beyond my sky. Share with me, and I promise, I'll share with you.
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I was wrong. It sucks. I can't. The mold is stronger than I am. Thinking I can do differently is a delusion.
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The waiting princess weeps
And curled around with head on knees
The bright-scaled dragon sleeps.
The prancing prince with head held high
Misunderstands the sight
He blows his horn to split the sky
Then charges in his might.
His wise horse aims him so he'll miss,
Says, "Get that princess slain!
Then gave the dragon one good kiss
To wake her up again."
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I loathe it.
I feel as though I can never be naked in front of anyone again. I'm afraid of what they'll think of me. So anytime I'm around them, I keep my clothes on, so they won't laugh or think badly of me. I just feel so fat and grotesque compared to them. They tell me they love me and accept me as I am, but I cannot accept me. I keep my clothes on so I can keep control.
So I can't play with them, no matter how much I want to. I always make excuses of some kind to keep from having to be intimate with anyone. I figure I'm sparing them.
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I worry about mental illness. the line that seperates me from crazy. and I mean non-functionally crazy. the idea of losing myself in my mind is frigtheningly appealing.
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I was wrong. Dead wrong.
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