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sometimes i feel that if i verbalize the things i hate about myself, they'll solidify into something i can shatter like a sheet of glass.

but real life does not work quite so poetically; i demean myself, i sink further, and i push those i trust enough to do so in front of away, my insecurities convincing enough. it's a cycle that my maturity has never seemed to tamper with.

it's like i'm five again, tying my hair in knots for attention, and running away.