I am a seed that has withered even before it has bloomed

I am a thought, poisoned or merely struck with reality

Out of the ordinary, out there and bitter and lonely in my thoughts

I deceive myself; I use my own pain and sadness to bring myself some glory

I use God to bring myself all the glory

I use His name, and I am pitiful for the lost

I am a conflict, a batter of useless hope, a premature or over-mature mind

Almost insane in thoughts, sick with words of butter and conceal

An intense, burning anger in the pit that yearns for light-hearted laughter and salvation for all

A serious, yet whacky girl, unprecedented and in control and controlled

On the fringe of death, yet in the bathtub of life,

Murky waters and a fleeting soul, only an instigator of change in every moment,

Discovered or purposefully hidden forever, taken by time, lost in history,

A withering rose-bud, tortured by the air it breathes and the vein that supplies her blood,

Forgotten, only transferred, only an essence carried with ideas that carve the paths for change,

For better or for worse, I am selfish and holistically unselfish, I claim to be, I am.

And I have a mere wish that you were too,

But I hate you, and I despise your train of thought,

But I know I love you deep down,

I hate you inside, I am against YOU.

So I will live on the edge, learn from what I can, and take what I will, give when I will,

Because I am me and no one can possibly destroy my conscience.

I choose, I see, I will develop my own, my self, and thrive on the love of family,

Defer any ill-will of liars who call themselves friends,

And I will know me, find out what Christianity has to do with a life without blindness.