Thesis Writing 3

Finally I understood.  He couldn’t be with a woman like me.  He didn’t like hard things.  And there I was: thick skin and bruises.  I was a proud woman who wore her heart on a chain around her neck, but he had me dressed in shame for all that I could never be – which was less.  Less scarred.  Less likely to cry.  Less likely to say too much.  Less likely to embarrass him.  Less caustic.  Less impulsive.  Less like my mother.  Less like myself.