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I underestimated, a sword so fine- a blade so thin. I thought, I thought even after it sliced porcelain skin, that metal so subtle could not pierce far beyond flesh. Barely a line of beady crimson, less than a solace grimace as she held blade to your heart - and yet, now, with smooth blade flush to my own beating body, now with fine iron pressed to supple child, do I feel, do I ache with the impossible cold that seeps from frozen metal. Now do I feel ghosted blade reach more then flesh and skin and blood, now do I feel the sad iron of a child who’s mother in shame withdrawals acceptance. Now do I feel a blade struck, in wake of a passion, she will never be proud of.
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My sister is out, she's engaged to another women, and my mum still thinks it is a phase. They're trying to have a baby, they live together, and my mum still thinks ' there's a right man out there for you'. Its painful to watch. I haven't come out (to her) and I don't really plan to. I just didn't realise how much it hurt to know that there is a whole part of my life, of my dreams, that she won't understand or accept. There is a part of me she won't love.
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