I am an artist through and through. Living in color, dancing through space, seeing in texture. Anything new transforms me, each moment a part of me leaves and I am enveloped by that moments purity. I take each experience for what it is and try to gracefully find my way back to peace.
"I departmentalized my problem; out of my answers there grew new questions, inquiries, conjectures, probabilities-until at length I had a country of my own, a soil of my own, an entire discrete, thriving, flourishing world, like a secret garden the existence of which no one suspected.-oh how fortunate we are, we men of knowledge, provided only that we know how to keep silent long enough!"-Nietzsche
"I departmentalized my problem; out of my answers there grew new questions, inquiries, conjectures, probabilities-until at length I had a country of my own, a soil of my own, an entire discrete, thriving, flourishing world, like a secret garden the existence of which no one suspected.-oh how fortunate we are, we men of knowledge, provided only that we know how to keep silent long enough!"-Nietzsche
- Last seen on Jul 9 1:12 AM. Member since March 9.
- My mood is , and quote is "Ambivalent".
- I am a 26 year old woman (United States)
- When I'm not writing, I'm Trying to find meaning in what I have been through, who I am, and How I can make a difference.
- I am in the groups Desperately Seeking Help, Eating Disorders, Eating Disordorders Coping NOT Glorif, Emotions, RAPE victims ABUSE victims DEPRESSED v, Recovery Rocks, Suicide, Trapped and Abused, xXDarkxPoetsXx
- I have 10 poems
My Poetry
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Inside the lines I am colored in there are scribbles of fear and sketches of pain. Circular strokes of winding doom are hues of lifelessness that shadow the light. There is a texture to my façade that goes against
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Loneliness breathes, it breeds sheer sadness. To be loved, to be held, no such thing comforts me. I wonder how long it will last this time, this hopelessness, fear, uncomfortable hell. Imperfect as I am I cant get use to it,
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I live in an excess of unimportant things. Rubble from each passed emotion in addiction form stand fast as witnesses to my sad tale. Is this my true nature or have I nurtured myself into believing that there is nothing good I0 lines, 1 comment, March 14
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It’s just too much
I just want to go away
