It upsets me that I cannot even accept my inclinations enough to speak of them. And that I have to diss other people who are happy just because I can't experience the same kind of proud satisfaction from what I feel a great contentment in doing.
Immaturity and insecurity hidden beneath haughty smirks, raised eyebrows and oddly intense verbal inflections.
Maybe not so well hidden.
Your disapprobation frightens me.
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