A bundle of confliction under her skin,
Nervous energy running like ants in her mind,
Knees jiggling, hands wriggling,
like a thousand worms crawling in the dust.
Only her face was serene, a porcelain mask of nothing,
no smile, no frown, no wrinkles to mar perfection.
So much effort to pretend to be
who she was not.
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Good writing! When’s the book getting started?
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Never, I’m not that kind of writer. I’m just for the short haul.
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