"outlooks" poems
sometimes i wish
you'd see beyond
the color of my eyes
and the cloth wrapped around my head
i wish you would
think of me as an individual
put away my appearance
and regard me as a person
my thoughts matter
my ideas aren't all bad
i have opinions
and i choose to speak my mind
if only you would
listen to my words
and try to comprehend what i'm saying
rather than focusing on my accent
and the way my lips curve when i speak
the cloth on my head
does not rid me of ideas
it does not limit my mental capabilities
it does not lower my tolerance
*have a debate with me
spark a conversation*
instead of complimenting my smile
compliment my mind
instead of assuming that my beliefs are enforced upon me
*ask me what i believe
ask me what i value*
tell me what you base your morals on
*question me
give me counterarguments
talk to me*
instead of staring at me
and making biased assumptions
already concluding who i am
and where i come from
before you've even
said hello!
i am not just the color of my skin
i am not just the size of my thighs
i am not just the design of my clothes
i am not just the price of my purse
i am not just the pattern of my headscarf
i am not just the length of my nails
i am not just a body
i am a mind
i am a heart
i am a soul
i am my theories
i am my thoughts
i am my perceptions
i am my opinions
i am my viewpoints
i am my objectives
i am my purpose
i am my outlooks
i am my intentions
i am my reasons
i am my perspectives
i am my choices
i am my principles
i am my ideologies
i am a thinking, feeling, living, stimulated, motivated, inspired being
i've got a world inside of me
take a look see
before you choose to pass judgment on me.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
i am of the light
despite
my shroud
that crowds the villains in the toppled telemetry of my steeds
galloping gallantly from the burning cities of my dreams
i shall gleam from her or he
that which delivers
their truths faithfully to their dreams
open wounds turn invitation
in the pity of hungry thieves
who dared to dream
of peasants king-ed.
as we sing
sing
of desperation
in passionate confessions
of jaded wisdom
passed on through every failure
never to falter
in the betrayals of Walters
lost
in loss-less flac files
i have miles to go
smiles to grow
daggers projectiles
from mild mannered children
freshly ridden
of maniacal miracles
spiritual
but not stupid
we are troopin
this lucid movement
grooving
to the repetition of the drum
the gas blow back of a gun
the bursting bubbles of bubble gum
having fun
i learnt goodly on the run
learned nothing in victory
learned nothing in simplicity
complacently
snickering it all away
bullet by bullet
case by case
and eventually the blade
in my compassionate displays
we shall congregate
and hate ourselves
**** the donks to hell
dwelling on the cellar doors
that darkos teacher adored
in verbal massacre
of the written literature
of cracked brain fixtures
seeping the lines
in cold tingles
down the spines of maniacs
just relax
mix it down on a track
spit the thesis into pieces
through the creases of cracked sneakers, and out the speakers
of trouble seekers.
mistakes make us
deliberate chaos
tossed
upon the fakers
who cry to think
the dream
became a reality
mistake us
for serrated blades that rip the hearts from beasts
sometimes i stop to think
while having a drink
conclusive brinks
of sanity creaks
of my humility
secreting
frivolously
the disposing of my jealousy
of your feelings
hellaciously
i rip a felony
from a face
in appealing agony
antagonizing me
in the frenzied forensics
of my oblique
outlooks
none of us
were ever crooks
speaking to self
while being booked
in hell
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
This one’s for the smart kids.
This one is for the honor students, and the straight A students
This is for the kids who stay up half the night studying, and the kids who work their ***** off for their grades
This is for the kids who can define and spell Antidisestablishmentarianism or tell you what DNA stands for (it’s deoxyribonucleic acid by the way)
This is for the teachers pets, the geeks, and the nerds. And the student who skips parties so she can study for her test.
This is for the kids who can solve complex mathematic equations in their head
This is for the kids who know that you don’t use “I” in a formal essay, and that okay is spelled O-K-A-Y, not O-K.
This is for the kids who can recite pi up to 200 hundred places, and the ones who can solve a rubix cube in 2 minutes flat.
The ones who take two language classes, and the ones who have been saving for college since they were born.
Geniuses of the 21st century, this is for you.
I would give you a gold star and a check plus for what you’ve done, but I’m sure you have gotten plenty of those. So I think I will just tell you something that only we could understand; Superb job at pursuing your academic careers with such ambitious outlooks on the world, and for having such admirable self-motivation.
I know that sometimes it ***** to be academically inclined, but in 5, 10, 20 years you will be working in some law firm or doing something you love and making multiple figures while the kids who blow off their school life will be stuck working for minimum wage at McDonalds or as a waitress for the rest of their lives.
So keep writing essays and doing extra credit because it’s not enough to survive high school, you have to thrive, and reach for the metaphorical stars.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
it comes
when you're reading one of those books
written by pseudo intellectuals buried
in their despondent lookout on life
comes when
They're writing on human's self-sabotaging nature,
when they're peeling
layers off and off, revealing the
truth of ourself like they're
gods,
Hermes the messenger, or angels, Michael,
bringing to us thoughts we'd never have grown organically
that's what they believe,
what they tell themselves as they prune their feathers with pride
as they impregnate you with the god honest truth
and how did you live before knowing this?
it's been with you all along, kicking and breathing and pushing
you just didn't know it, yet,
but now you can as
they preach their outlooks like it's a message that
changes everything, that your life will implode as your mind
wakes itself up -
they try to baptize you
gripping your throat with their
carpel tunnel fingers, reading glasses
slipping down their noses as they lean over
you, watching their words pour into
you, their victims' throat, as they will it
and all the while they blame
you, because:
Humans make themselves miserable
They write
They bury themselves in all they hate and
choose to burn all they love until
they're alone and self-loathing and scarred
unrecognizable
They write
Of our hatred for humanity
for every single individual that surrounds us and
How we surround ourselves with them
with crowded supermarkets and lanes of traffic because
they fuel our suffering and
That's all we crave
They write
On our thirst for blood
our lust for **** ****** war on
How our society is fueled by violence and how
we bathe in it with a grin
stretched across dry bleeding lips
sharp teeth that rip through our neighbors' flesh
with delight
They write
that we're alone in suffering and surrounded by hate and
we're wild animals driven to war
out of boredom and
That's human nature in a nutshell
That's the truth revealed
nasty, gritty, honest
They write
and that's when
it comes, that gnawing in the
pit of your stomach, that
scratching in the back of your mind
that claws its way
down into your throat where it
squeezes
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
I get too deep in my own emotions, I never even attempt to try and bring myself back because I know that when I’m depressed they just become delusions. It’s simple to say that friendship can keep you sane but honestly, it’s the comradery the keeps me sheltered in an uncomfortable silence. Hearing about the pleasures someone can indulge in makes my heart break, then to hear them complain about the small demons they face in life just simply makes it hard to agree with their outlooks when I’ve seldom ever seen my happiness at its peak. It’s hard to think of them outside of our time together when almost every moment of my time is hard to fabricate. I love them but sometimes it feels like I have to liquidate and make my escape before I create a situation where I will negate the comfort I’ve created with them, it’s so hard not to express the feeling to leave.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
if you walked a thousand miles in my shoes you still
would not have any room judge me
where'd that idea come from, anyway?
that because you see what I see and walk where
I walk you have the power and knowledge to
write a book of every mistake I've ever made
and set it right outside of the gates of heaven
so that when my time comes I know it was your
words that left me dead?
people are not god's
you grew up reading mythology, watching the half-human
Hercules build a wall on top of his shoulders and carrying
it even throughout his most human times
I grew up reading poetry, memorizing the beauty of
metaphors to the point where I decided that when I grew up
I would become one and everything I do would be one
no wonder we have such different outlooks on life.
if someone put a knife through your back, you would die
you are not immortal because people are not gods
so why allow them to do what they do?
I told myself you would never make me sick again, ever
let me have a 105 degree fever and a pain in my shoulder
before I ever get nauseous remembering what happened
what was said or what we both did, but when I went to
the doctor and begged him to cure me he just filled his
syringe up with a photographic memory and inserted it
directly into my veins whispering
people are not god's
people are not god's
if you want to became the hands on a clock learn to
add and subtract and memorize when the sun rises and sets
if you are dead set on becoming something no one can
touch without crumbling to a pile of dust
breathe deep and walk tall
move as if your spine is made of words
that were said in such a fragile time that if you distribute
your weight improperly the tightrope will break
act as if it is never a fragile time
even though it is 99% of the time, but say it's not
say it's all just fine until your mind is snickering because
it has convinced the rest of your body it's able to keep running
people are not gods, people are not gods
people are just people and that's all they'll ever be
a mere five and a half feet, unless you allow them to
put on stilts and start walking around in your head
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
The spectrum of my eye sees this one color
perhaps if I smile it would be less duller
But I can't help but to sink into a sadness of this color when I see the rain drops on an easy Sunday morning
With the drips and drops against my windowsill that outlooks to the dreary city
Busy people passing, stepping over puddles
The gloomy clouds over cast my apartment
and I still wonder, if the sun is still shinning where ever you may be
because it's certainy not in my eyes
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
I just want to write stories:
One about a girl on her honeymoon
that calls her mother from the hotel room.
Her mother dissapproves of her husband
because he's abusive and rude and she doesn't understand how her daughter can love him;
but her daughter can't help but love him unconditionally
because she understands her husbands flaws and they're what she loves about him most.
She gets all this pity about being mistreated, but everyone should pity the man of her dreams
because no one understands him and he's tearing at the seems,
and he feels so lucky to have someone so accepting
and they love each other despite everything.
Or one about a girl perhaps,
that goes on long walks to a stage by a river
where she imagines that everyone claps
and welcomes her with open arms that she can practically feel embracing her
and their arms comfort her and keep her warm and eliminate the shivers
that grow on her own arms like little ant hills with colonies beneath them
and when she looks down at her heart she notices a tiny stem
of a dandelion by her feet, and she admires it
because it holds up a **** and doesn't face defeat
and still holds up this **** even though everyone only views it as a ****
and it breaks a sweat and stands tall and doesn't succumb to greed.
She wishes she could look up to it, but the world only sees it when they're looking down.
And I want to write one about a tiny boy
with many fears that no one understands
and ironically enough,
one of his greatest fears is not being understood by others
why he is so scared.
So he tries and tries and tries to explain why the world seems so evil
but the stutter of his thoughts makes him realize that nobody ever cared.
And he carries on and lives life in silence.
Silently scared of a world can hardly bear.
Or maybe I'll write one about a poet
that dreams of the wildest scenarios
and the most enchanting outlooks on life
and she dreams of words and how they fit together
and she dreams of ideas unimaginable to the average brain
and she wakes up in the morning
and doesn't remember a thing
and she opens her note pad
and scribbles until her ink is working again
and sits with her silent pen,
wondering what to write.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC
I have reached a resting stop in my life long journey towards complete and utter happiness. I am drained, weak, and nauseous. I can't do a single thing in life without worrying about a consequence, a mistake, a fear. If I move on; will I be wishing I stayed? If I stayed will I forever be regretting my decision? I need to see the world, but I also enjoy some things in this life. I crave adventure, but comfort is easy to find and 'home' it is easy to call. I want to see what life has to offer, but what if it isn't as glorious as people proclaim? what if I am not the person I believe I am? a unique writer who craves inspiring scenery? Or am I just a little girl who's been thrown around by society, mind so hazed that I cannot figure out what I truly desire? Life; it's a living hell - but with an open mind and no pessimistic outlooks, it can be a best selling book waiting to be written. I might have the ability and opportunity to be the Author, through terrors, tortures, and turmoil... I might be able to make my hell into someone else's hope. I just have to keep going, moving forward, and stop looking back and dawning on the past.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC
Ugly and disappointing colors are what they're revealing
It's a challenge not to fall victim to the deceptive deceiving
This world in which all are tirelessly scheming
Corrupt messages intended to disillusion our modes of sensory
The laws of this dishonesty are rarely discriminant
The unlimited reach of the effects are constantly consistent
Putting current views and outlooks in legitimate jeopardy
Originality is one thing they've made a hobby of stealing
Dark, ***** secrets require intelligent attempts at concealing
This society in which all are tirelessly scheming
Naivity is an automatic assumption of all that is innocent
You can witness their successes expending minimal energy
The fraud is hazardous; failure is certainly imminent
One would desire that outcome sooner than later, as it leaves recipients feeling elderly
With any form of luck, more will come to share this sentiment
Endless efforts put toward developing façades generally appealing
Aiming to have candor and valor on the knees, kneeling
This reality in which all are tirelessly scheming
Sturdy quilts to shield clarity are woven most expertly
Time being tested passed slowly- increment by minute increment
Blueprints to fool the majority will be, expectedly, intricate
What was the original reality has been altered into a distant, doubted memory
Any and all accomplished legitimitacy sends them all reeling
There's always a "crisis" with which we should be dealing
Our universe in which all are tirelessly scheming
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 1:17 AM UTC
I feel it....
The urge,
The scratch,
The knuckle,
The crack,
The sound,
The glimpse,
The silence....
Change, inwardly evolving into every step I make, every word I say, every breath I take.
What is at stake?
I struck myself at a forsaken introspection.
Becoming, someone new.
Someone dark, and someone light.
Someone who I never thought I could be.
Intensity strikes and the magic I have been hiding resurfaces.
I am many forms...
Of me.
I then, start to see.
She was just a cover, but now I unfold and surface at my most enlightened peak.
I feel me, I know me.
Yet, it's a monumental battle of self, constantly changing, having different outlooks.
Allowing perception to take shape into different formulas.
I found myself, lost in the darkness, and lost in the light.
The substantial view of solitude has awoken a part of me that was lurking in the shadows of what I thought I was losing.
Space, moving slowly, at a pace, with no fight or race, but a high vibration of intentional awareness that I now foresee, down, and high, the pits of me as I grow to actually be.
The me I had lost, the new version of what I thought me would be.
Profusely intertwining with chaotic yet peaceful mindless thoughts.
I feel it...
No hassle,
No chase,
No worry,
Just peace.
I accept me.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 11:09 AM UTC
it's electric
chilling to the touch
can't let go of the idea
your hands gliding
down my arms
to grasp my hands
it's a silly i suppose
the way i dream of you
but i can't help it
have we met before?
or do you stay here
during waking life?
locked away, as i remain.
longing for the moments of rest
where i'll still find you
do you wait for me?
between delicate dreams
and a fifth dimension?
do you know how you move me?
phantom touches of fingertips
as you look into my eyes?
god, i'd love to be loved
to remember the glow if it,
even for a moment.
to remember how it feels
to wear a borrowed sweater
or to lend mine to a lover
to wear it.
the hug that lasts
'til you decide it's over
to feel it.
the warmth that lingers,
your heart in their sleeves
to breathe it.
the smell of their cologne,
the connected memories of being held
held in a way that let you know
that they never want to let go,
that to do so is a temporary measure
so later on,
they can embrace you once again
reliving the euphoria of human connection
but is it love?
to crave when you are so starved
or is it merely loneliness
to crave the escape of a lover's arms
carefully wrapped around you,
as they whisper low
those sweet nothings,
telling you that you are everything
when you have felt so empty
a resurgence of half-filled cups,
rose-tinted outlooks and lovesick melodies
exchanged glances that form their own languages
and i want so badly
for a name to be honey in my mouth again,
so sweet i am afraid to open up and let it out
i crave so deeply the feeling
of being fully clothed and yet naked,
fully myself and fully in love.
and i may be a romantic,
but i don't need flowers at my door
i don't need you to tell me what your heart is for
i want the little things,
tag teaming the dishes as you tell me your day,
the rough draft of the email you need to send
( if it needs an edit, i promise to be kind )
nothing speaks of love like the mundane,
to share a life; to share even a moment
what else could be so intimate?
i want to know your middle name
or to invent, should you not already possess one
i want to have knowledge that gives fae their power
i want to know your favorite color,
so i can wear it when i'm alone
to encapsulate the meaning
i desire above all else,
to be loved
with only the best intentions
why would the world be beautiful
if every inch of it didn't deserve
to be enveloped by love?
i ponder alone
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 6:15 AM UTC
Confusion, abusing
underused.
Apathy is only a mean to an end
and it has served me well in the past.
Like a particularly sharp tool,
chosen with care, to sculpt and mold
the clay between my fingers
into something presentable for the world.
Who are they to judge what I make,
who am I to judge what my fingers shape?
A stoic face outlooks the world
shaped out of clay and sharp edges
contrasting on the face
just below the meniscus,
turns to soft and gritty
emotions boiling down the surface
of what used to be
a smoothly carved face.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 3:39 AM UTC
Amid the soils and grit of
life and pleasures pursuit
of happiness may one find
the fruit of perfection? In some museum
eclipsed in heaven?
Or on Madison Avenue or on a magazine cover?
Or in some religion? What sect?
Or may we have as much luck planting a banana
peel in a hole we dug and filled with ****
Positive outlooks are necessary, but roses don't grow here
in December and bananas are imported and petroleum
is now cheap and internet is wireless
and lunar eclipses and we all arose from some explosion
and , god forbid, my parents had *** Otherwise,
I would not be here writing, this ****
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
I wonder,
When the wind blows, where does it go?
Our minds cannot comprehend such things.
New outlooks on life are brought on
Due to heartbreaking events.
Everyone always asks why.
Reasons are needed for everything.
Why not just accept it?
Here's why, people are afraid of faith.
Yet I do not, because I know the risk is always worth it.
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 5:58 AM UTC
We pass this age, in pipes,
pass hazed bathrooms
on river outlooks, fleshy and brown.
The walk up walk down,
they stain us in tattoo colors,
us in memoriam, us in spite of them.
The roots of our habits lie,
lie, and are laid in secret,
above our flat hats smart pants;
we tire from a fight, a pose,
from watching flies drop around us.
We end in smoke, us in ozone.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
1.You shall not confine beauty, that which is in the eye of the poet charged to show it to the world.
2.There is no poetry better than the other, although your words are different you all bear witness to the soul's confession.
3. You will write freely not to incite popularity but to give truth to this art.
4. You shall never use poetry as self vanity but for exploring the spirituality within each other.
5. You will not be confined to the repetition that you have used in poetry, poetry is an exploration of the self, therefore the words are too an evolution of discovery.
6. The words will be therapeutic and truthful to the self so that you can see the truth in the world to bring about the compassion within.
7. You will bleed your self onto paper and very word will be yours for everyone else, there is no poetry without others to read it.
8. The words shall be as a confession that does not inspire sorrowful outlooks, but it shall inspire into action those who knew no better than before your suffering.
9. Being true to yourself first and foremost is an absolute; if you lie to yourself then how can one be a true person, much less a true poet?
10. Each poem will be a gift to the world, but it will never be greater than your dream and will always be inferior to the most marvelous of dreams which is the art of poetry itself.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
I don't mind spending time
watching people pass me by
beautiful people
lost people
happy people
insecure,sad people
people in love
people who need love
we all need love
i love to watch the people
doing their thing
everything that they do
i love people
even when they don't know it
i do
i watch them with wonder, curious eyes
hills, boots, jeans, slacks, and ties
dresses, skirts, shirts, and accessories
behavior, character, attitudes, and outlooks
these people are interesting to me
from the way that they look
to the way that they see
i love these people
but they don't know me
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 6:47 PM UTC
My mother always told me that “blood is thicker than water”
she meant that the family I was born into was more important than everyone else
but that's ********
the quote itself is ********
people misuse all the time
the original is “the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb”
it means the exact opposite of what my mother was trying to tell me
the family you choose is more important than the family you're born into
the problem with one line sayings is that they are too simple
the problem with my mother is that she says one line sayings all the time
the problem with how I was is that I believed them
I believed that I'd attract more flies with honey than vinegar
that I should **** my enemies with kindness
that boys will be boys
that I should do unto others as I would have them do unto me
that the family I was born with was more important than the friends that I chose
but outlooks change
I don't want to attract flies
I don't have enemies but if I did I'd want to change them not **** them
I'm not going to be passive
I will do unto others the way that they want me to do unto them
I don't have to talk to a family who doesn't want to fix things
because I want to fix all of the things
and sometimes to fix things you have to destroy the bad parts
so I'm burning so many bridges
I'm watching them go down in flames
and from the ashes I'm building a life
that is more honest than any one line saying could be
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
Out here all alone, no one can see me nor hear my deepest of thoughts, all I am left to do is think about all the things you’ve said to me, missing your smiling face but all I can do is look out into the distance and I will have all your words of inspiration running through my head. Your last words of love keep me going, moving along, making it all possible, building a better life for me, soon enough it will make sense to the outsiders that look in. Their outlooks will change from doubt to positive reflection. So I declare this a movement of mysterious ways, dedicated to you my birth mother who is looking down from heaven’s mountain. The steps I will make, the steps I will take, all in the right direction, the high road will be taken always. I know you will be there in the end holding the gates open for me to walk through. When I do we will once again be together, we will play the games we once played when I was a little boy filled with joy. Until then the times well spent together will remain running through my head, and all the things you’ve said will keep me moving in the rightward direction.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 6:27 AM UTC
*Everyday is a new day with new challenges,
new meaning, new outlooks,
even tho its always out with the old and in with the new,
there was always a piece of the old stuck inside,
I was there for you, I was listening to you, but something hit me, I didn't know what,
but it did, it was cold, felt like I was alone, not being listened to, like I didn't mean anything,
to anyone not even you, like I didn't belong in life anywhere I was, But I don't regret moving on, but everyday, I can say I regret I left you like that, you just needed someone, and failed to be the one I promised to be, the past is the past, bunch of good memories thoughts, fall backs, but as long as there's a new day ahead of us to bring us new things to come, just keep your head up,
be strong.*
Goes to anyone with once a broken heart, hurt or not pull through, everyones
strong in there own way, remember half the time you make yourself smile anyways,
so why not find something to make you smile!
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
Allow me to give you the grand tour of my mind, to the left there is an
ever growing wisdom set in its ways giving off radiant beams of light
paving pathways to my heart and all that I hold dear to my passions.
Friends come and go, but those who have stayed through the years
have grown to become family, for those who have shared their support
systems through the times. I am deeply within gratitude respects to
you and always will roll out the red carpet leading into paradise of the
corners of my mind. To the right there is truth draped upon my
personal meaning of life, optimistic outlooks paneled upon my walls of
reflection. The extreme overcoat of poetry covers it all; I shall only
bleed when needed…believe me I need not to do it always. In the
furthest corner of my mind lies a pile of unfinished yet duly noted
pages of written words, which brings me here to this segment of the
blogosphere. With hopes of this becoming a grand masterpiece of my
well thought out ideas, respective points of view, and other duly works of art.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 4:54 AM UTC
Somber room.
Cheery music playing loudly,
Drowning out the screams of lost lives.
Pictures hanging depicting scenes of innocence.
Ironic.
Because all innocence is dead in this room.
Mostly women but a man or two
Trickle in with bowed heads.
The door clicks shut and the faces in the room soften.
Tension leaves shoulders.
Some here for support,
Others here to be supported.
Chilly air hits one body,
Two heartbeats.
Jokes made to ease the atmosphere.
Awkwardness.
Could I cut the tension with a knife?
I'm sure I could if I tried.
Care packages given,
Evidence to be burned.
Look in the eyes of the ones who sit,
Stares at the floor,
Thinks of nothing.
The slight chant of the protesters.
Holding rosaries,
Holding signs.
All they want to do is save a life
But sometimes a life can't be saved.
New opinions, new outlooks.
Do I agree?
No.
But here I sit silently.
Does that make me evil?
Does that mean I am as unworthy as they?
I wish to never sit in this room again.
I wish to hold life, not **** it.
I pray for all in this room.
Mar 26, 2011
Mar 26, 2011 at 7:12 PM UTC