When you sit there on the counter with your neck exposed while he cooks you dinner, giving him unfettered access to his favorite toy, because he put you in that position and told you to “sit there and look pretty”.
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All she wants is someone to make her soul spill out
Like an inkwell knocked from the writing desk
Behind the plaid-skirt tousles and eyelash flutters
Behind every hair-flip…
There’s a smaller “her”
And she’ll never tell you that secret
You have to pry it out
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It’s amazing when you turn anon off how all the hate messages go away….
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She gets flowers every time, no matter what…
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I’m on a plane I’m on a plane I’m on a plane I’m on a plane I’m on a plane I’m on a plane I’m on a plane I’m on a plane I’m on a plane I’m on a plane.
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