Good Intentions.

Like a tornado you came crashing in,                                                                                            destroying everything in your way.

Leaving my head spinning the way you always do. Your ‘well-meaning’ intentions, magnifying my every masked insecurity; intentions forever                                                        lost in translation.

I often wonder, though…..

Does the leather ever chafe your thighs as you sit there glaring down from your pretentious moral high horse?

© Gina Jenkins

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