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how should we be but shells of this sea.

the faces and the movements change yet the bones are the same.

what tongues do speak when wicked thoughts play.

is he a man, is he a woman, is he a creature without a name.

how we trap ourselves in such roles and form.

comfort is painful when you force me into this ... this picture you have of me that is not me at all but just an image of what you think I should be...I cannot be anything but me.

my edges are bleeding fury when you try to shape me this way.

leave me undefined and free.