Christina (mysticoddessy) wrote,

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searching for a door in a room with no walls

Tyler helped me realize that I can only write when I have a clear mind. So the passed 18 hours I've been clearing my mind. There's so many words and thoughts hiding behind my circumstances. Every now and then I can feel the emotions try to push themselves out and onto paper. But maybe somethings are just better locked away inside the deepest parts of your mind. I mean... maybe somethings will never come out, because they aren't ment to. And to let anyone else even try to understand would rape them of their true beauty that can only be seen by me. Or maybe these things I speak of don't even really exist.
Sometimes I think that my life has come to an all time low... and that really, everything passed this point is going to be just as pointless as the things leading to it. Why was I put here on this earth. To mearly take up space and question the meaning of my existance. I mean... there has gotta be someone or something up there watching me, and wondering what the hell went wrong. But at the same time... I know that I'm a beautiful person, I can feel it. I have so much to say... so much light to shed, yet I still feel like I don't have the right to... only because I myself am still in the darkness.
I know that there are different levels of intelligence... just as there are different levels of experience. Some of the things that I've been through are nothing short of unbelievable. And I sit here and listen to people praise me for making it. Well what the fuck else am I supposed to do? Honestly... there's no such thing as being a victum of circumstance. I mean... if you're family's poor... than you're poor, so I guess that makes you a victum.... but at the same time, if you're poor you're not given the right to sell crack to get money to feed your family. You save your family and destory mine. I don't buy it. Life is what you make it... you've gotta think for yourself. You were given this world you didn't make it. And yeah... some of us are delt one hell of a hand, but who cares really? Sympathy is pathetic. I will only tell the story if I think that there is a purpose. I hate when people look at me with puppy eyes and ask me if I need a hug. Fuck all that.
I know that I'm a hell of a lot smarter than people would like to give me credit for. You think that you're fooling me, but I knew what you were doing before you did. It's amazing how you can read people. The littlest things tell it all. It's sad beacause all of the things that I've allowed to happen to me, they were all predicted. I knew it was comming... but sometimes you have to go through those things so that you have a lesson to teach. It's those with no experience who sit there silent. I've got shit to say... and one day I will scream it. Untill then... I'll just sit here and let it all soak.
It can't rain everyday... that's what they say. But I mean... what if you really like the rain. You can let it ruin your day... or you can lift your head towards the sky and open your mouth.
It's crazy.... every person has a different story. Could you imagine... if everyone had their whole life story written on a tablet and hung on their back. And in the back of everyones head there was on of those court reporting typewriter machines... and as things happend.... more words were being added to your tablet. And whenever you met someone... you didn't talk to them, you just read the tablet.
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