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Broken wings discarded on a dusty floor (you ripped away my feathers along with my innocence) and dirty pinafores are
all I have left of my "childhood". Dress up ("-my lies if it'll help you believe them-") was my favorite game, and Daddy loved
to join. I'd act out whatever part he desired in our play-with its cast of two. A little princess one day, an angel ballerina
the next (whatever made him happy) that's.all.I.cared.about. We have reels of film stashed away in a (not-so-hidden) drawer
that he loved to watch over and over again. I'd twirl for the camera-and he always told me I was beautiful.
Silly Daddy-this isn't what I thought you meant.

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