The Girl Who Lived

As I sit here lounging in my cotton underwear and unreasonably XXL T-shirt sans bra, I held on to Butters while she wheeked softly. Across the bed, Peaches sprawled belly up, fast asleep. I stare deeply at the blank screen of my computer tonight, wondering how I should write this without coming off as “different.” Because that’s how I’ve felt my whole life. Out of place, out of rhythm, out of rhyme. I struggle to type out the words that are just on the tips of my tongue. They’ve been waiting to translate themselves into typed out letters via the use of my fingers yet no words ever seem good enough to describe what I’ve dealt with for most of my life.

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