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Insecure
Somehow I can't help but think
That I'm to blame for everything.
It's always something I did—
Something I wrote—
Something I said.
And somehow I can't help but know
That I'm the subject of their whispers.
It's something I wore—
Some way I acted—
Something wrong I said.
I'm sorry, I’m sorry.
Let me fix it. Give me another chance.
But please,
First give me this opportunity
To feel secure
In your arms.
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Favorite Quote:
"To these the past hath its phantoms,<br /> More real than solid earth;<br /> And to these death does not mean decay,<br /> But only another birth" <br /> - Isabella Banks