Stuff I write, pen or jot down. Whatever you want to call it. Just white noise, no lies. From that voice of tempestuous longing. But the promising of torrents of spring;. The ballad of a new day,. So often lost in the tranquility. Like wails of the child. Itches, those always there.

However, my own personal endeavors during this year have been quite astonishing as wellto say the least. It hurts but it also teaches you a lesson for life. I would love to keep writing more.

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You respect me as a person. But you stand in my way. I want open doors,. Am I crazy for wanting more? Please, Let Me Be. I am tired of being told I am wrong. I am tired of being, oh you know, just young. I am my own, to others I am just what they need.