Children born with *** is the most sadest thing in life. Everyday there is a child born with ***. The reason for this is because adults and children are ***** each and every day. By the curel careless people in this world. Kids are sent off to oprphanges in some parts in Africa where honestly is better then some other places in Africa. Thats not it though the ones that are not in oprphanges are at risk each and everyday for there lifes. Not only for this disease but for the curlest people that will **** them for basically no reason because they dont have freedom like we do. Why treat children this way period but why treat them especially if they have limited time in life. They dont get to see and experience what we get to see and experience because we have the freedom. Each and everyday children in Africa risk there lifes to go to school most of them don't survive because once again the cruel poeple in this world **** them. Unlike we get to go to school for free and have freedom. We get to have the oppertunity to have an education. When they are not even given a chioce. The kids that are not in a orphanage are slaves they get torchered they get wipped they even are forced to see there parents wipped, ***** and murdered. They dont have choices at all for there life the chioces are made for them. Barely any water to drink or even food to eat. Children in Africa die each and everyday either from ******, starvation, dehydration or there disease. We act so ungreatfully to people in our lives we should be ashamed. When poeple in Africa don't have parents or if they do they dont get to see unless seeing them be torchured. I am thankful for everything I have and the freedom I have. Learning about this in school was intrestingly horrifying because of what these people do to these children and there parents or to people in general. They dont get *** from chioce of *** or born with it or lack of condoms they are forced with this horrible disease that is life killing and that most likely turnes into AIDS. With out any medical or lack of medical attention the poeple with disease are left to die. With people torchering them by watching and ****** them each and every day. It makes me furious to know that there are children human beings out there that are being torchured, *****, murdered, starved and dehydrated each and everyday of life. This is the life to the day they are born untill the day they die. After reading this think really hard about your life and the things and people in your life is life really hard for you is it that painful is it that horrifying. Put yourself in there shoes would you like seeing your parents child or sibling get ***** murdered or even wipped each and everyday. going without food or water or having barely food or water. For me after writing this and learning it my whole life is heaven compared to them. I have everything they don't and better and  I am not even close to being as greatful as I should. Think about this and this is so very true this is there lives each and everyday for the children and adults that are slaves that have ***/AIDS in Africa.

i fell in love with a writer. i will forever be in her world, even way past her death. i don't exactly know why i fell in love, or how i managed to do so, but i do know that i am perfectly okay with doing so. sometimes, when she looks at me, i am able to picture myself in her bed on my worst nights, and she by my side, holding me the entire time as i shake with fear and anxiety. and somehow, in those milliseconds when i look into those unkept swimming pools of eyes, i get lost and i forget who i am. she knows me like the map of veins on the inside of her wrists; she fathoms me in an unexplainable kind of way, more than anyone else, honestly. my sentences are not making any sense but i really dont care. i know she will read this. i know because i am purposely going to send her this link and she is going to let her eyes travel over each word that is typed.

okay let me start over.

how do you tell someone that they are all you want? that the dreams give you a craving that must be eventually put into words so they could possibly be put into action? i probably do not know what i am talking about. i went insane looking for her. i guess a part of me will always be insane, regardless of whether or not she plays a part in it. but, i do know this: i want her to be. i want her to drive me insane and i want her to push me to my limits. i dont want to just feel love for her. i want it all. i want the hate, the tears, the heartbreak, the pain, the joy, the angst, the lust, the melancholy, the happiness, everything. i want every emotion that comes with being in love with her. i want the hell, the heaven, and the purgatory. i want the planets in her veins and i want the constellations that linger on the edge of her lips so that every time i kiss her, i taste galaxies and nebulas. i want every ******* metaphor. i want every ******* reality. i dont know, i want so much; i am putting myself out here for her and i still dont even fully fathom whether or not she wants the same. i mean, i think she does? maybe, maybe not. it is yet another mystery i must learn to solve over time. i cannot go two feet without bumping into some piece of her. when i go out to get coffee, i imagine her sitting in that café right next  to me, reading a book she bought for fifty cents at a yard sale. i can imagine her in the most obscure places; walking next to me in the grocery store, staring at the puppies through the window of the pet shop on main street, in the mall with me dying to try the new hot chocolate at starbucks, buying cheap shampoo at the dollar store because we are going on some sort of three day adventure to anywhere. i see her everywhere. i feel her everywhere. i crave her everywhere. and this letter may make me seem out of my mind, but oh ******* well.
some things we dont talk about. we simply dont have to. i think that there is a mutual understanding between us for some things. to be honest, i didn't only fall in love with a writer. i fell in love with someone who holds many titles: lover. poet. dreamer. thinker. listener. talker. adventurer. brand new day. she is so much. she is an arbutrary holiday that is dying to be celebrated. her bones are filled with wanderlust, and she makes a mean hot cocoa. there is always a lovely way to look at her. even the distance between us is equally as beautiful as the distance between stars.

she is the perfect combination of subtle and mysterious, all while making it seem as though she is an open book waiting to be read by the loveliest pair of brown eyes. she is a universely misunderstood paradox, and she has the capability of making you think twice about what you are going to say, even without opening her mouth. she is a foreign film so full of incomprehensible words, yet you can fathom everything about her if you actually take the time to get to know her. she can make you fall for her just by closing her eyes and making a wish at 11:11pm. she makes you contemplate the meaning of life, and she can paralyze you all while batting one eyelash. she is the feeling of a warm blanket on a cold december night, and she is the cool breeze that caresses you on a humid july afternoon. she is that new song you hear in the coffee shop but will never know the name of, even though you will spend innumerous nights searching for it on the internet and in record stores. and oh god, if only she had the oppertunity to see herself from my perspective- she would fall in love with herself just as easily as i did for her. for she has never encountered a love like this likewise of squeezing into last year's prom dress. every single day, she will make my heart beat indefensibly faster and faster. and she will continually wonder why i fell for her, and eventually she will understand why it was simply her who occupied my vacant heart even though my bed was preoccupied by broken promises and empty words. she gazes at me skeptically, yet understandingly. and i will never stop trying to let her know that i ******* love her until it is nothing short of crystal clear. i will never get used to her; she changes over time and so do her thoughts and emotions and perspectives and opinions. i will never fully fathom her, but god knows i will ******* try. and every single day, i will love her more than the last. and she will continually wonder why i dedicate so much to her, for her, and about her. the entire ******* world knows about her. she is all i ever write about lately, and it soothes yet annoys me at the same time because she is always on my mind. i have waited a lifetime for her to love me, and i would patiently wait another if it meant that she will one day be the first eyes that i see when i wake up on sunday mornings.
god only knows what is hiding in her weak and fragile heart, in those glassy and lost eyes. and although she has the tendency to change her religions, it does not lessen the fact that she the universe in her soul.

so this is my letter about the girl i fell in love with. she is the only girl i have ever fallen for, and she has made me see the world from a different perspective. and i cannot even thank her for giving me the oppertunity to become like this. i dont know, maybe i am insane, but all the great artists were; hemingway, einstein, twain, poe, cobain, the list goes on and on.

maybe this time things will be better than they were.
maybe this time you can be the girl i write about who sneaks into my bedroom late at night to spend even five minutes together.
maybe you can be that girl who admires me from afar.
maybe you can be that girl who writes love letters to me and drops it off anonymously at my house at ten in the morning, and once i read it i already know who it is from by your handwriting.
maybe this time you will fall harder and deeper for me than you did before.
maybe this time we will find peace,
and maybe this time every single memory of ours that we make will last for decades.


i love you.*


{m.j.}

Doors will open,
The doors can be a big oppertunity,
Or a mishap.
Sometimes you open the wrong doors,
So you just have to,
Find the right ones.
          j.b

Isn't it compelling how poems can affect us so emotionally?
I mean sure a picture says more than a thousand words but
watching television only tells us a certain vision.
On the other hand contracting letters must always be spelled right or else there's nothing left to make sense.
I refuse to sign a contract to make cents, although I wouldn't cross swords if the oppertunity presents itself.
Maybe I am contradicting myself but crossing words is just a hobby to me, for now atleast.
I do believe that spelling is like magic spells. We fuse words like a magnet, they either connect to our feelings or repell eachother.
It's confusing sometimes when I get inspired beacasue I'm in spired to cast spells,
yet I can only spell what I've been remotely controlled by the remotecontroll to my limited visions.
I am afraid living.
Have I Lived or have I liveD in reverse and learned to embrace the Devil?

Red Light shining bright through the window in an edgy ally, where you can smell the sin and witness
lustfilled eyes of corrupt and narrow minded men.
Watch how they pick their flesh, a desperate attempt at relief of the madness lying within. A brief escape from a screaming consciousness's plea for help.
Young girls ostracized,productized, capitalized sitting in symbolized shelves. Behaviour manipulated to seamlessly service the brainwashed consumer's shallow needs. Cattle literally abusing human innocence in a legalised system.
A caged bird, where tears can only fly freely behind void eyes.
Desperate to the point they would sniff the coke from the dollar bill in search for small remnants of solace. Ironically it's the thought behind that dollar bill that put her there in the first place. Ironically it's that same dollar bill that might bring an oppertunity to escape.
Might leave a small opening in the cage. Emphasis on might.

A bedroom, where the nightlight shines darkgrey
A small boy sitting, fetus position, under his older sister's worn out desk
Never before have you met someone so young
weighing the options, positives and negatives
about life and death
testing, poking the knife he has in his chest
nobody has taught him anything about coping
good thing he knows everything about math instead
broken, his sister pinned down in father's bed
last time he accidently walked in
he was nearly beaten to death
He grabs the knife and seperates his soul from his flesh.
Society labels him and million others 'A Tragedy'.

Delivering freedom on the spot, dropped from high altitudes
by B52 Stealth Bombers, Lockheed AC-130's, F16's and unmanned MQ-1 Predators.  The Democratic system crashes into farmers, families, children and other people waiting for the food drop today. The explosion burns everything away.
Their souls desperately in search for their bodies which now lie scattered in ash, they can't go back to the physicall plane. They are forced to break away from their 6 month old daughter who 'miraculously' survived that day. Democracy making way for western influence, orphans turn into kids who perceive their nightlights dark grey.
Soldiers spot a baby, in a bloodbath, sitting.
Militairy lights hover over the scene, the blood reflects back a bright red.
This part of the city turned into a Red Light District.
The epitome of irony was a spark of creativity in the mind of a mad architect.

The kid is swooped into a country whom mercilessly obliterated her parents. Little brothers and sisters send to their dusty graves with the President's consent. Sixteen years later she meets her fifth one, social workers don't know what to do with her. Another two years later she's institutionalised, filled to the brim with drugs satisfying the needs of pharmaceutical companies. Trapped in a straight jacket, between four white walls. Being used to purchase meds to keep the production going. The least the useless can do is a word invented by capitalism: consumerism.
So they shall consume, such a harsh forced fate. Everybody's mind would break.
For those who's sun shines grey, where salvation waits on the thin line of a sharpened blade. I'll tell you, suffer needlessly. The world thrives on you.

I'm sorry I didn't kiss you
                       didn't hold you
                                              your hands,
                                     kissing their smooth digits,
then praising the perfect symmetry your eyes found.
I'm sorry for every oppertunity.
I'm sorry it all piled up,
                                                 and we got lost.
I'm sorry I couldn't speak,
voicing every desire to help,
each protective urge,
each measure to go to.
I'm sorry I couldn't even cry.
       sorry for shutting down, as you slipped out of
                                                                                                      my life.
I'm sorry for being a problem,
I'm sorry for the fuss of giving up.
I'm not
        sorry for being on the street corner it started,
I'm sorry being here's a memory now.

The lines and the cuts and filling my sight,
Will I ever come back from this terrible night?
I see oppertunity on the horizon like a midnight flame,
Maybe I should play the devils little game.
For as the lepord has its spots, as I my weakness,
Like a ghost in the night I overcome my meekness.
To move close to the lines drawn upon the table,
As I clear out my veins I just wasnt able,
To see the truth in the broadcast blasting on the cable,
This life will get better, is that fact or fable?
Will I ever be happy again? Someone answer!
Or ill just keep spinning in a circle like a ******* tiny dancer.
And as my throat began to close,
And my blood pressure rose,
I feel this new life enter into my nose,
I can feel my skin crawling underneath of my clothes,
This feeling keeps grows as it enters my toes.
But now what is happening? As I see the red tide.
I can see my blood flowing, coming from the inside.
I guess this is going to be my final ride,
The paper curtains slammed shut, and in the dark the actors cried.

Red,
Orange,
Yellow,
Green,
Blue,
Purple.
These are the colors of the rainbow,
the colors of nature.
Not ment to be put into peoples hair,
yet we do it anyways,
we take things that arn't ours,
and use them in ways they arn't suposed to be used.

In a way it is beautiful,
the way some people can weave the color into their hair,
and make it look like it is theirs,
make it look like it belongs,
but on the inside they know it doesn't belong.
That those are natures colors,
and that without nature
they wouldn't be able to put it in their hair.
They thank their hair stylest for doing such a good job.

When really they should be thanking mother nature,
for giving us these colors,
for gicing us the oppertunity to use them.
For giving us a part of nature

Red,
Orange,
Green,
Blue,
Purple.
These are the colors of nature

Fear or rejection risks perfection.
One can be so confident
Or unconfident
Perfectly imperfect in someone's eyes
But they will not put anything on the line to get what they want.

Avoiding the risk of failure and potentially deprive you of happiness later.
If you're too scared to put yourself out there and take it as it comes
Then maybe you're not able to handle either outcome.

No risk, no reward
If you don't take the leap you won't have the oppertunity to fly like a bird
If the response truly meant enough to you, it would outweigh the fear and you would follow through.

If you're asking me what to do, that means you need instructions on how to follow through
If you need guidance on this I don't believe it means that much to you.

This is my confession statement.
I fantasize abou torture and killing
How to cover it up
Where the best place for ****** is
How to have the least witnesses
Ways to avoid emotional damage of the people who see the bodies.

Now for the confession.
I have tried to ****.
More than once.
I make people cry.
I torture.

It's story time.
Here's some background.
There is this girl. She's the ugliest thing on this planet, and she's overweight. She has no friends and used to be a complete loner.

And I found my love and addiction to torture through her. I would cut her. I would take my knives and drag them across her skin. Sometimes over and over and over again in the same wound.
She will never forget me or what she is. I made permanently sure.

Now comes the interesting part. Her existence welcomed me into the darkness of her heart.
I didn't always hate her.
There was some part of me still left that didn't have the heart to put all my effort into killing her. For a while.
I started to like it though.
I attempted and pretended to **** her a lot. More times than I can count on two hands. And I liked it. I scared her so much and I helped teach her her worthlessness. I helped open her eyes to how terrible she is.
And here's a secret. I made her love those headaches she got from lack of oxygen she got when I would tighten the noose around her neck.
I made her beg for death but took away her oppertunity.
I hit, punched, sleep deprived, cut, burned, carved, scratched, pulled out hair, force fed pills, mentally tortured and oxygent deprived this stupid, ugly, useless, unwanted, weak, pathetic girl.
However, I never fully followed through.
Which is why I can write this.

Its not hard to live without you, its what I've always done.
Its not difficult to not think of you, there's not many memories to think of.
its a breeze, to say the least.
Because its something I've always done.
I was born without you, fake smiles held me or hung?  ...
I grew up without you, whether you lingered or not that's the way it was done.
I endured hostile intent, that should of never been provided the oppertunity.
Had you been there, like all religious intents scream for you to be.
Would it had been the way it was in the hands you let hold me.
I'm sure, since you wrre never there, it would have transpired to a more malicious state.
One leaves due to fear of what they'll do or what they don't want to see themselves doing.
Regardless of your absence, I care not for your excuses.
You, not painlessly, taught me how alone, lonely, and incidious someone can truly be.
Not only did you leave me, you thought it waa wise to pay, so I would stay away.
No attempts to want me, or see what I've become.
No motives to care haunt you, or would ever dare.
And it was my existence alone that twisted you.
Made you unloving due to your need to move on as thoigh I ne'r existed.
I survived, though your vast attempts at leasure.
I breathe even still, though not to your desire.
I've always lived without you, and always wondered why that must've been.
Now I only wish to never see you the way you worked so hard to have it spent.
Now I agree with your every motion to never be one moment.
I'm estatic there's no memories to haunt my every breathe.
There's not a single way I sway that would remind me of a time when...
I only wish I never saw you, so in the mirror time I spend.
I wouldn't see your eyes, lips, and nose or color of your skin.
I wouldn't know I have your hair or that my ears sit where yours did.
Id be able to see something beautiful instead of the state you left me in.

"AGoddessOriginal"
7/30/12