I'm just a little girl who wraps pretty words around herself like an invisibility cloak, hoping all the while that somone will see them and think "beautiful" instead of broken...

"strong" instead of soft.

These words -my words- are like shards of broken glass, cutting at the pieces of me you don't want to see. They are the words I try to show my mother, only to see her shy away, asking me if I'm alright.

Mama- I am alright. I haven't been this alright in a long time. You see my words as a cry for help, but the words themselves are all the help I need. I don't have to keep them inside anymore, pounding at my temples, threatening to spill out at any moment. They look so pretty here, aranged in clean lines on my paper. Something constant in a world that is falling to pieces.

...Who feels happy? Rich? People who have achieved what they want? Many people around us believe that things make people happy. But we really choose to be happy or not. Have you ever watched a hypnotist work? He chooses one of the spectators, puts him to sleep with the power of hypnosis and gives him an onion. Then he describes the onion as a wonderful fruit that has not yet been tasted. A person under the influence of hypnosis eats onions with great appetite. Very well ripened, beautiful peaches are described as raw and bitter peaches. As a result, a person who sleeps under the influence of hypnosis does not want to bend his face and bend it.

You know, we have a negative attitude towards everything in our lives, and it is these negative attitudes that prevent us from being happy. People often say that if you don't think about evil, there will be no good. Many would think so. They expect good from life and then expect evil first so as not to fall into severe depression. They are not surprised when something bad happens, but it does not make them happy. The idea that you should expect something bad from life is a mistake.

A young man went to see a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist told him to list the brown things in the room. The young man enumerated many things. Then the psychiatrist closed his eyes and asked him to list the green things. The young man said he had not seen any of them. Do you understand? We see what we want to see in life. However, in the psychiatrist's room there were a lot of green objects.

The young man did not see them either because he did not want to see them. It is the same in life. Because we expect and think bad things in life, those things are more noticeable to us. As a result, we do not see the good in him. We count ourselves unhappy, not seeing the good that comes with the bad in our lives.

Contrary to everyone’s beliefs, from the outside, money, cars, equipment, fame, and luck are all irrelevant. Happiness is determined by our attitude to life. So we don't have to have a lot of money, a big house, or a better job to be happy. The most important thing is to change our attitude. It is this same author who wrote the following words: “The basis of contentment must be in the mind; He who knows little about human nature in the pursuit of happiness, who wants to change everything except his own character, will waste his life on senseless actions and will only gain the sorrows he wants to get rid of"...

I write to remember…

To capture the pain and joy of a moment.

My words reveal more than any photo.

I write to forget…

To free my heart from the raging feelings that surround it.

I put my thoughts on a page and leave them there.

I write to escape…

To get lost in the words and the worlds I build.

I’d happily live there instead.

I write to understand…

To make sense of the confusing reality we all live in.

I need to interpret it for myself.

I write to stay sane…

To keep everything controlled inside.

If I didn’t, who knows what would happen?

Some things are better left unsaid

I beg to differ.

I rather have it all out

Than to have kept it inside.

Let it out

Let it be heard

Never keep it in

Lest it fester and rot within

Words are such saviour

When actions fail to deliver

Words infuse the mind and heart

Eapecially when you are apart.

Maybe I write so the thoughts don't kill me -

sinking in quicksand

drowning in feelings.

Maybe I write so it hurts less -

this aching in my chest

reliving these memories over and over again.

But maybe I write for you, not me -

hoping one day you'll find something I wrote

and think of me

and wish it had ended differently.

Maybe I hope that somehow you'll change your mind and come back,

or maybe I just want you to feel guilty for all the pain you caused me.

She writes for the lost souls -- uses her words to light the way -- to guide them through their darkest hour. She wants her words to be seen and heard. She writes through the difficult moments - taking on each challenge one by one with her words of defeat. She writes in a language that someone needs to hear. She writes past the embarrassment of exposure - because hypocrisy doesn't need answers - rather it needs questions in order to heal. She writes herself to sleep sometimes and writes her way out of nightmares when they happen. She writes because she likes happy endings. She writes conversations of fiction that never happened. She writes to soothe a racing mind and calm it down. Writing is her leisure and she likes to play on a page like a child likes to go hard on a playground. She writes when she reflects on her life by conveying her thoughts onto a screen or a piece of paper. She writes because she likes to paint the world in a way she desires to perceive it. She writes because she is eager to make a difference in this world. She writes to make sense out of senselessness. She writes with a full understanding that she will be killed by her own words - stabbed by critics and crucified by both - misunderstanding and understanding. She writes for the lovers - the haters - the lonely - the brokenhearted - and the dreamers. She writes knowing that one day someone will tell her that her emotions were not a waste of time. She writes for God because God loves good stories. Above all else, she writes because one day she'll be gone - but what she believed and felt will live on forever.

There are a million things I want to do.

Things I want to experience.

But I'm too lazy to do them all,

To shy...

To scared...

So I use my only weapon,

These sacred words of mine.

To go all the places,

Experience everything,

Without leaving the security of this chair of mine.

To pour my feelings out on paper or screen,

Unable to say them out loud.

Teardrops turn into words,

Reading them shows how much I hurt.

There can be joy and pleasure,

But it is short-lived with all this pressure.

I write because it's enticing.

I write because of pain.

And I wrote this just to explain.

Point me to a soul that will listen to my mind

It’s so dark in hear I wish I could step outside

Is the sun really as bright as they describe it to me

All I’ve ever seen is the darkness that surrounds me

Please tell me there’s a way that this can end

Is there anyone who will listen

All I asked for was a friend

But it looks to me like no one will ever come

So I picked up a pen

It turns out people will listen

But they will only care when your dead