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I don’t trust you.
I don’t trust you not to be cruel to me.
Your teeth are always bared, looking for my soft places so you can feast and drink me dry.
I trust you.
I trust you not to break my heart.
I don’t trust you not to get tired of me, of my stubbornness, my careful hesitancy, my reluctance. Those are the bad parts of me I want to give away.
I don’t trust you not to take advantage of me for your gain.
I don’t trust me.
I don’t trust me, so I’ve never grown into the fullness of who I am meant to be.
I’m always just a little unsteady. A little unsure. A tad doubtful.
How can beauty come from an unstable mind?