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how do you tell someone something so crazy that you cant see the light at the end of the tunnel that youre an angel thats just been begging to go home how do you tell someone something so personal
We all start off pure: a baby, knowing nothing about the world around us. We are very sheltered at this time, thinking no one could do us harm. Some, sooner than others, realize this is not true.
Tis impossible to write my life po'm. Constantly I wonder why I try so. My life will ne'er be as large as a tome. But question begs still an answer to know. The answer found me when sun hung so low
Born into laborRoots buried deepAn outlined life etched into stoneHis arms are strong enough A wifeA homeA child’s plea for a better lifeHis will is solid enough
1) Born into the better family The house and the lights say it all 2) Lived off simple television shows with whimsical themes to make the lowest souls cackle with joy
In a year A veil is lifted A wound is deepened, dragging We stitch pigs in science and
Dear Dad, I am not emotionally charged right now, so I figure it would be a good time to start this.
I can conquer anything - Any struggle, any strife, All I need to do it is my fingers and my life. Performing is my passion. Drawing is my dream. I do this each and every day,
I have a little wooden box,
How does one define perfection? By looking in my eyes, They don't show a reflection of the viewer but a glimps into my soul. In the curve of my iris there is a story, A little girl who moved from house to house,
Do you know a life at home?With heart felt loveAll around and above
she was thirteen years oldwith two jobs and four brothersand two parents who could barelykeep a roof over their headsand when her parents decided it was timeto take her out of school -she left
Listening to a story, A life of a friend, It's the opposite of boring, Stuff said I would keep in. We have similar trials, I know we can relate, But we still walk for miles,
Three months early Twins born too small Doctors wondered If they'd even live at all Months went by From the hospital we were released The older sister first
It's completely impossible. There is absolutly no point. When writing that perfect life story. Why? Because it just is. Our life has just surely begun. We're at the point in our lives where we just now beginning to breathe.
Who else can take a broken heart and use the blood as ink to write the perfect tragedy? Or twist a stupid mistake and transform it into an intricate strategy? I have been damned with the soul of a writer.
I am from lipstick, lipgloss, and lipstain, From Revlon and Covergirl, and from many other lip products. I am from the bubblegum pink walls of my bedroom, The heater that lined two walls of my room
Unfold the tapestry hurriedly at first, stretching quickly across the cool stone floor-- flatten the edges to show me where the figures crawl, walk, then run. Smooth the wrinkles slow, then.