Entry ~
*I wonder what people see when they look at me. A girl with hazy eyes too tired to see? With ***** blonde hair, skinny legs, wearing an over sized black tee. A girl that smokes a lot of ****, and drinks way too much tea. Maybe they see the written travesty of me. Heard the stories of my early identity. How I used to be so easy and naive. Got down on my knees for the simplest "please" from boys who never gave a **** about me. It's no surprise I swore off boys when I was seventeen. Of course it didn't last. Girls never did it emotionally for me. And I wonder how much of this is perceived when people look at me. I can usually see it in their eyes. When buzzing questions of my puzzling past arise. I can read between the lines. I know everyone wants to know why. But there are no simple answers I can give to ease anyone's mind. My past isn't something I care to hide. I'm only human, and we all have a darkness inside. It took a long time to repair my pride. Something that shines bright through the haze in my eyes. I'm not ashamed. I know that I'm kind, and I've heard stories way worse than mine. I'm grateful and healed with a wonderful life. I've made mistakes, but shame is only relevant for a certain amount of time. I want people to see that when they look in my eyes. See that I'm living proof in the complexity of life. I'm the girl with hazy hazel eyes. With tight black leggings and a gap between my thighs. I have a tarnished reputation, and a silent observant eye. Even when I'm silent I'm fully present in mind. If you see me on the streets feel free to say hi, and don't worry I won't bite if you dare ask me why.