Title: Optional

Text: We chase misprinted lies. We face the path of time. And yet I fight, and yet I fight, this battle all alone. No one to cry to. No place to call home. My gift of self is raped. My privacy is raked. And yet I find, and yet I find, repeating in my head, "If I can't be my own, I'd feel better dead." Each paragraph will be a test.

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