Oh, what disturbing thought will I have, next? I’m not my parent’s food and I’m not the doctor’s food. I’m no one’s food. I seem to not know my use to the world.
Food might be love, but I’m not that kind of love.
I don’t know what my purpose is.
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Maybe you’re just a Freudian slip to them.
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Only large predator animals like a lion or something would see you as food.
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