Quit questioning my lace bodice, my platform shoe, and my stain lips from last night’s lipstick. Quit questioning the number of eyelashes I have and if I can’t breathe. Quit questioning if my zipper if down or if I need a belt. Quit questioning my train of thought. The choo choo choo of my train of thought. Quit questioning my want to chalk pictures on the streets or leave little messages on napkins to no one in particular. Quit questioning my questioning of my beauty, let me question.
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