for barriers, like the vines that tangle over her front door, or her hair strands snarling and weaving a mask nobody can quite see thru. Her words seem like beacons but their brightness disarms you like someone naked under the wildest glare blinding you in ways you never realize a mask she puts on and can do what she chooses behind, barbs, quills that seem impossible to touch, you can’t see her shiver under them wounded on the side of the road
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