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Born of a minority race Adorned of comments and nitpicking You grow a thick skin when subjected to Adolescent Bullying Spitting image of an Abuser Mother couldn’t take it
To Those Who Think They Know, Everybody has secrets,So does The GirlTo Those Who Think They Know, but really don’t,The Girl holds her secrets within the cage that is her chestThey don’t see themBecause they only skim its gilded surface, blind to t
Dear Swarth, You hurt me like a sharp, shining silver needle pricking my heart because we all know it hurts the most when the pain is concentrated all in one spot.
Dear Rye, There are a lot of things swirling inside you Emotions and memories and darkness that You don’t know quite how to process
These words are a salvation that flows from the need in my chest through my arms and out my flying fingertips These words are a salvation stemmed from the same feelings and whirls of thought
I’ve spent countless hours of my life thinking and brooding, Considering the complexities of my past relations. And it is during these times, with my emotions moving, Which cause more oft than not unsightly ruminations.
Purging concerns and shadowed secrets, Spilling tears and spitting hate. Catharsis is a spinning storm Where you release the weight. The storm comes back again, As night claims the horizon,
Many people do not realize t
I want to burn everything. All of it.
You're the best thing that has ever happened to me I would do anything for you You treat me with respect And you care about my feelings You're the best thing to ever happen to me And I couldn't be happier
cathartic renewal,i beg to seethe end of the personthat once was me. i dream to query the Jefferson's, Einstein's, and Tesla'sof a hidden truth we had all once known.
i can't recall exactly when i had begun writing. but it must've been in a time of distress or despair. i figure this because those are the only times i see writing as essential -- as catharsis or healing. so, i write
i inhale. knots. there are knots in my Chest. tension runs through my veins, snApping at each curve. my bones, oh, how They scream so loudly! i will quiver. seizing limbs,
Why do I write? Why does it matter? That the hands fly to keep up with the mind that is faster? It's a racing mind, filled with stories and ryhmes feeling like I'm running out of time,
I think it started With a fleeting glance. I had to capture, somehow, This moment in time provoking A fluttering of my heart. Then it became My mode of voice, Of choice.
A tremor shakes the vessels in my head tightening around my skull until the water drops from my eyes and a ghost takes host of me. My brown skin turns to cream my lips too tight,
Sometimes without pencil and white space I think my mind would go dizzy with thought, too much heart all cluttered in space ambiguity-- my mind would burst in the mix nowhere to go
I am running, Forever it seems, From a past I am running from memories Memories that cause pain Memories that I wish had never happened