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"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
~Velveteen Rabbit

An entry I had written quite some time ago...

I don't know what happened to me. It was just like a shedding of old skin. I do that with everything in life. I shed old skin, old clothes, old friends, old ideas. I have to be moving forward- always. I cannot work backwards. I left everything I was behind, to be come this new version, this better idea of myself.

A lot of people got left behind. A lot of beliefs abandoned. And maybe that makes me coldhearted and just... scary. To have the ability to just pick up a new identity like that. But what is more beautiful than that?

One day I just woke up and became this extroverted, rebellious, wild thing. The quiet, shy girl with low self-esteem vanished into a smoke of sultry femininity and sophisticated sex appeal. He told me I became mainstream. The unique girl he used to love and admire turned into another stereotypical pretty girl on facebook who is posed holding a martini at a fancy Vegas club in her display picture.

I don't really care. To live life means one must constantly evolve. I shed my old skin and became the pretty girl. So what?








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where soul meets body.



And I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
But if the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you’re the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere




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how it feels today.
Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

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years later.


tears of joy. it's always when you have experienced such a profound level of pain that you can emit tears from the happiest of moments.




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second guessing.


sometimes i get bad thoughts, really really bad thoughts. sometimes i know i wouldn't be able to stop until i feel pity. does this make me a bad person? am i sadistic and twisted and all fucked up inside? why is pain so goddamn hard to carry?




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writing again.
Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

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