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Game Of What The Hell Do You Want

A game of what the hell do we want? He swears he knows me, knows the shapes that are the make up that blemishes my cheeks in pink streams of self protection.
He swears too know the second guessing is present in the back of my mind as I fain confidence.
He argues his portrait of me is me as surely as a tattoo stains my skin and cracks remain in bottles that fell to meet the floor boards. He assumes that my self portrait is drawn to deceive him from the self loathing I feel at the thought of being re-broken.
He dismisses the list of reshaping, revamping I did mostly for me but also so that I may let him in.
A game of what the hell do you want? Says he wants what he sees but what he thinks of me isn't the way I am at all.
Thinks I am hiding from myself by brushing my ego, stroking my words.
He just knows my words are meant to be repeated so I can tell him to believe them.
How can I...why would I...prove to him that hes wrong when he isn't even sure I am the one he wants?
Written by Erotic_Goddess
Published
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