I want to breathe but I can’t breathe and I want to shave my head, make it smooth and clean and ungendered because I am so fucking tired of you seeing me as I am, seeing me as you want me to be. I am not an open door. I am not yours to have and to hold.
I want to shave it off, chop them off. My breasts need to be chopped off, removed forever and
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I'm not bothered by the idea of submission, just the idea that you don't think it is okay. Anything safe and sane between consenting adults is okay, so don't hate yourself.
Am I interpreting your poem right?
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I think I misinterpreted the meaning of your poem.
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Are you a fellow traveler? Where have you traveled to?
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