Shredding the Curtain

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She's loud.
I want to be accepted.
 
She smokes a lot of weed.
I get high because the world is so low in its standards, and excuse me if I sway to the rhythm of a different banner flapping in the wind.
 
Ungrateful?  No, I'm 
Thankful for everything that my disabled parents could give me.
 
Communist on the inside,
That's not a lie.
I'm sliding through Soviet Russia in the back of a jet plane,
Headed straight to higher education and better pay.
Even if it can't help the government.
 
They call me 
A slut, because I have my tongue pierced.
No fellatio here.
In fact, I like my men the way I like my garlic.
 
I'm allergic to garlic.
 
And behind that curtain to which we all succumb, stands a frightened little girl who misses her dad, the one who used to take her to the park.
She'd never show it, though.
See, the world thinks she's strong, a force with which to be reckoned.
 
I reckon they're wrong.

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