Letting go of the letters I've buried in my chest. Letters I never send because they taste bitter and I hate to speak ill. They've gone bad and begun to rot in a cave I carved out just for them. I can't let them infect the parts of me that I love. The parts that are good. The parts that still have life and room to grow and flourish. Dedicated to "ick" men. You know who you are. I hope this highlights parts of yourself you've been oh so terrible at facing. Come on in, boys! The water's fine...
Bitte wählen Sie Ihr Anliegen aus.
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