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I have found my selfIn running a jungle of darkness and sorrowIn searching a beam of lightI have found a little girl standing aloneWith no one but a shadow of herself falling on the groundI have found my selfI have no greed of your wealth No sorro
The day I left was the hardest day of my life Looking into your eyes killed me Blank, expressionless, emotionless It was your decision to play the wife. I've been so angry at you for what you did
Writing on a page is like putting scars on skin. They both leave stories. However, while ink will fade and pencil smudge away, scars on skin are things that stay. A blank page can be equated to the pureness of a child.
I hide behind closed doors and fractured walls, I can feel the rumble as my false protection is being broken down, The darkness of the night is slowly creeping through the cracks,
(poems go here) Why I do I write? I write because my heart burns. My heart burns as I try to survive, My heart burns as I live from day to day. As I stand for myself and those around,