Please stop saying its a stupid mistake. Because for me it's the right choice. You may not get it but I'll try to explain. I get that it might cost more money. I need you to understand though, I can't stay in this place. This town, at this time, seems too small for my dreams and God's plan for my life. I need to get out. I can't spend a year more than I have to stuck in these classrooms and these halls. It's not right for me. I can't go through eighteen more months after this semester with these people. Let me say this though: I've connected with a lot of people here. All of them have gone away, finding their own paths. Some I pushed away because I knew they weren't for me. I don't want to have to push you away, but the way you keep talking might just push me to that point. Honestly, I love connecting with people, but this town is too small for that. I want to travel, I want to see as much of the world as I can. On those roads going anywhere, I want God to point out the one I should take. I can't do that stuck in this world, this box, that you try to keep me in. I suffocate in these rooms. Luckily, I am tall enough that my head breaks through the ceiling. What I see past this place are passions and other places that I want to see. So you can stay in this town where nothing happens. Stay on the roads that will take you no farther than you've ever gone. Maybe that's enough for you. Not for me. Why can't you understand that I need out?

Tattoo me like my favorite pages from every book

They say "I'd go to hell and back for you"
But baby I'd never have to
Because Hell isnt a place where angels go

Toxic things don't freeze. Which is why I wonder why it is that when I found you, your heart was already frozen.

I can't do this much longer
Every day I feel my back shrug a little more
I feel my voice going silent
I feel my soul being beaten to a pulp filled with only my blood
I feel imagination being ripped from me
I feel my feet dragging
I feel my heart shrinking
I hear my mind screaming
**I feel tortured

I'd rather fight on my knees for what I believe to be true, than stand on my feet for nothing.

I think that life, in its purest form, is simply a giant game of improvisation. You can plan and plan and plan, but at the end of the day, in that moment, the words you say, the day you have isn't something you can plan. It's something you have to go with, a story you write as you go along. You can't memorize the lines to a story yet to be written. It's a moment by moment life. I think a lot of people forget that.

I am A
Rebel Heart
Intelligent Mind
Free Soul
Strong Body
Living Masterpiece
I am Not a Game
So don't even try to play me

I like to use my voice in the silence of a page and a pen.

You can try and take the limelight. The real stars shine all on their own.

I'm tired of being people's punching bag
I'm the thing they practice all their moves on
Beating me senseless with every new torture technique they find
What they're trying for though isn't boxing
It's a game that ends you
They **** me everyday
Trying to prepare themselves for a war
I go through a war everyday day and
every night

I used to think I was strong
Used to
But apparently other people haven't stopped thinking that because they keep coming back
They don't come back for me
They come back for what I can offer
The only things they give me is
Pain-filled company
Beatings
Heartache

Maybe they don't actually think I'm strong enough and that's why they keep coming back
They leave thinking I'm broken
Only to return and find out they were wrong
I'm not sure if that's good
I'm not sure if it's good that I won't break
Because it doesn't feel like it
It feels like I'm losing
I hate losing
But I don't know how to win this war

They're supposed to be training to fight in a different war
They supposed to fight with and beside me
But they throw punches my way
I don't know how to fight back
Should I?
They're supposed to be my friends
Maybe I'm wrong and they're trying to simply break down my walls

I built strong walls
I know that
It was on purpose
I would love for someone to try and break them
I want  someone to fight for me
But why does it feel like they're fighting against me?
I want them to tear into me and find my soul; to connect with it
What it seems like they're doing is beating me so I can no longer stand
That way it's easier to **lay my head in the guillotine

I love writing. It's one of many forms of art. It allows me to tell a story that, technically, has already told before. The thing is that it's never been written by me. That's what makes it unique. That's what makes writing great.

I'd tell you who I am
If I thought you would care
I'd show you my flaws
If I thought you wouldn't tell
I'd give you my all
If I thought you'd do the same
I would put down my walls
If I thought you would be there for me
I would express to you my dreams
If I thought you would listen
I would tell you my passions and who I want to be
But I have been betrayed many times
I've given so many people a shot
And all they've ever done is pulled the trigger after I gave them the bullet

And that is why it's easy come easy go
I've before done this before
So don't you think I'll cry
I'll keep both my eyes dry
Because I'm done with you
And there's no way you can get me back

I know that when you talk too much people will start disregarding what you say. The problem is I can't decide when it's my time to speak. So I stay silent. When do I fight, how do I know what battles I need to win in order to win the war?

When you tell yourself:
"I can't do this"
Say "without You"
At the end
While pointing towards God.

I see things talking about how when people die their story has ended
And yet, how many poets wrote their life away only to be known after they passed?
How many painters brought color to everyday life, only for it to be truly seen after they're long gone?
How many writers took a pen and wrote their last breath on paper, only for it's brilliance to take life after they died?
How many more will have to suffer this same fate?
To live a life of passion in art, only to be written off?
Then, to be seen from beyond the grave
How many more will only be heard when they have no more breath to speak with?
How many more will only be understood when death takes their ability to stand?
So please, don't tell me that when death takes me, I will have lived the last word in my story.

They call me a rebel
They might be right
They could be wrong
It's possible I'm innocent
But they'll never know
Because I'm sure they'll never wait and see

I don't mind you reading my heart, as long as you don't know my name.

Without art, the heart is a he.

Tell me once more
How I'm wrong
Say all the words you told me before
And how you don't see how they hurt me

Tell me once more
How I'm worthless
How I'll never make it farther
Than this street I'm on

Tell me again
Just know this time I'm not listening
I've spent all my time believing you
Look me in the eye and you'll know
I won't make that mistake again

Tell me once more
How I'm not beautiful
In your eyes
And I'll let you know how you're wrong

Tell me once more
How these scars define me
I'll have you know
That there's more to the story than you'll ever hear

I'm not sure if I can fight to stay alive
Or even if I'm willing to die
I'm at the point where I just don't know
I so wanna fly
But I'm stuck on the the ground
I want to just float
But the waves reach for me
I need to run
But I don't know what I'm running from

I feel like some of the best books are the ones hardest to describe.

I can, I will, I have written about anything
Everything is up for inspiration for a new story, poem, or song
But I want you to know that when I write about how you walked away
I didn't write with a voice of pain
You walked away and it was simple
Yes, I thought about how my life would be different without you
Yes, I realize it would have been a lot different
Yes, I realize you changed me
No, I don't think I'll ever forget you
No, I don't think I'll ever run out of ways to write our chapter
But that's what you have to realize:
You were only a chapter in my volume of a life
The sad thing is I don't think you ever read the chapters already written,
and yet I listened to every one you were willing to tell me
Maybe that's my fault though
I don't really tell people things about me
If you were trying to get me to miss you
Then you need to try a LOT harder
Because I don't think I've cried over you once
I don't plan on it either
Because as I said before, you leaving me was simple
It was the cut that you don't feel
The one that heals without you knowing it was there in the first place