I want to write, story tell, create, and mold. Breathe life into pages. Force emotions in those that have not felt, bring tears to the heartless, and produce empowerment in the weak. When you think there's no words to describe it turn to my writing and praise me; call me a prophetess. As you lay awake in the silent hours of night and send questions to a higher power that you still question is there. As you despair in the pit you've found yourself in again..I hope that you don't need my words to soothe your soul, and in my absence discover the relief a pen and paper would do to a troubled girl.

'do you hear me?' 'this is the voice of an imperial past' 'the sound of horses, and the strong walk of men' 'do you feel me?' 'this is your cultural thrill, the smell of a powerful land' 'can you see me?'
...I want to protect the beauty in this world. The ones I've seen and the ones I have not. I want to stand a wall between the pure hearted and the hate. To preserve the magic that happens when, without labels being used, there's a silence when all is not lost and so much is to be looked forward to. To experience and know that I shall not be had. When looked at me, I will reflect all this world has offered me.

I know most people can feel their heart beating. Mine seems to always be screaming. ******, I ******* hate formalities, especially since it’s actually a comfortable way of making people adapt to me. Quit practicing ways to manipulate and make you plain. Gold chains on me, but that and all these gold rings don’t mean a thing. It’s a game homie. I gotta keep a brain on me. My mind races to different places to put back what’s sacred in replace of the hatred created in this matrix, so taste this food for thought. The longer I live, the more I’m complacent. It’s not like I’m complaining but this life **** is draining. Feels like I missed out on life training. Now I’m stranded tryna keep up with the others playing, but I’m a bench warmer to your Lebron levels of slaying. I’m blaming myself, sick and tired of hearing everyone’s intents of fame and wealth. What about your mental health? Isn’t it worth that Gucci belt? Do your eyes even see or have you ever felt true love itself? I’m talking about the love for yourself, somebody help. My life isn’t a script. I can’t plan ****, everything that’s happened, couldn’t have been destined. I’m reckless, so ain’t no way I’ll get blessings. Don’t follow me. One dollar can be the ticket you’re missing to godly things, and I’ll probably just be watching while you leave and remain here on my feet in a place that’s home for me. So if heaven is where they’ll be, then I’ll dance with a manikin since that’s just the will in me. A legend, and this **** isn’t really a message, this is more like a confession. End session