I can't speak.
Writing is the only way I can truly communicate.
I mess up my words, I say too much at one time.
The chaos that is forced out of my mouth never seems to come out right.
When my pen hits the paper, or my fingers hit the keys.
I am finally at peace.
The words pour out of me.
Maybe this is what it feels like to finally be free.
Even when I text, my words morph into a confusing mess, but when I write.
I finally won the war against myself.
Against my greatest fear.
Telling the world what I really want them to hear.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
Stay humble in everything you do.
Appreciate the ones who love you.
The journey to success is never easy.
Never be to proud to show love for those who helped you get your feet off the ground.
They are the honest and brutal ones. They tell you how it is, and they don't sugar coat anything.
They let you know when you are starting to act like you're entitled to everything.
You aren't entitled to anything. You have to work for it.
Be thankful for them, and keep in mind that there is a strong difference between success and fame.
Get over your ego, and remember to always be grateful.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
Art is meant to open your eyes not your pockets.
It's made for ones who view the world differently.
It reveals the beauty within ones' tragedy.
If you're in it for the money, you aren't in it at all.
If you're in it for the world you better be prepared to fall.
Art is for the healing heart, the lost little girl, the one whose falling apart.
Art is for the hopeful and the lost.
Art is for the ones who want to rip off their disguise.
Art is for the ones who are sick of their own lies.
Art is not for personal gain or ten minutes of fame.
If you're in it for the fantasy you'll be disappointed easily.
You either give it your all expecting nothing or don't start at all.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
To some homeless means you don't have a place to live.
To me it means you're searching.
You're looking for a hand to hold.
You're still crying over a lost soul.
You're running from solution to solution.
Except you aren't solving anything.
You're getting further and further away from yourself.
You continue to pry open closed doors to sit in the misery of the same results.
You never settle.
You don't have anything to call your own.
You're buried in the walls of your own house, searching for a place to call home.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
I wanted you to explore me.
I begged for your lips to caress the inside of my hips.
Your sighs became my drive.
As our bodies collided.
I lost track of who I was.
I found myself spilling into your hands.
You had the ugliest name and the most delicious smile.
I was aware of the lies you told me with your eyes.
At that very moment it did not matter.
I did not care.
I felt my myself disappear into the darkest depths of my own curiosity.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
The coffee stains under my eyes reveal the exhaustion in my mind.
The wrinkles in my sheets, left the scent of your intentions.
I can still feel your hands, I can still taste your lips.
**** you.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
I slept with the word worthless.
I danced freely in the shadows of lust.
I drank from the cup of greed.
I shot a bullet through the face of regret.
I kissed the surface of my own skin.
I began to feel beautiful again.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
I ran through the darkest forests.
I chased the lions of my tallest mountains.
I stood in the rain for years ignoring my own fear.
I fell to the ground more times than I can count.
I fought the demons of my deepest thought.
I shot a bullet through the hearts of those who told me "You can't."
I broke my own bones so I could heal.
I stabbed the doubt within my own chest.
I sacrificed my own sanity to save my own life.
I am armed with my own pride, my own courage and my own faith.
I broke down my own walls and opened up my own eyes.
I am a survivor and I am still fighting.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
To her, beauty was a soul's passion.
She fell in love with ones' words.
She believed the damaged were the beautiful, and the lost were the intelligent.
The mislead were the leaders and the misguided were the teachers.
She understood the broken and listened to the hopeful.
She lived for the endless possibilities and timeless fantasies.
A broken mind to her was a beautiful inspiration.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
You left her in the morning with unanswered questions and stolen innocence.
Her bed held the scent of their mistakes.
She can still feel the grip of your hands in her hair.
She can still taste the curiosity of your mouth on her cheek.
She regrets nothing.
-Lily P. McLaughlin-
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC