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February 5, 2012
It scares me when you stare straight into the camera. I can't avoid your glance. I feel trapped, caught beneath the weight of a microscope. I imagine that you can see me sitting here without a bra and just washed, never combed hair. I imagine you judging me, sneering at my attempts to write something worth reading.

Please look away. I am immobilized by the intensity of your picture. I resent you for making me feel this way. I've begun to hate your image. Look away. Look away. Don't you know it's rude to stare? Your mother would be ashamed.