MY WORDS THOUGHTFULLY EXICUTED..

Why do I write and write, when I know the effect my words have own my people and their people is minimal. Caring us over to a stream of innocent tricks and tasks made.

Receiving the praise we crave for. We dedicate ourselves for the cause, the light that surrounds us spreads spirit thunder and thousands decades of merry. Wonderfully enchanted we get, with the soft spoken winger-song-writer music in our heads. I breath for you and you for the sake of our mother. We gather as one people of the world. Wounded by none other than shorn.

People of Earth have become shells of empathy, where shelter has no accommodations. Striving for more than we can overcome, we have evolved as a human cloned collage of what we once where. What we never will become is the ‘illusional’ future we try to escape to. Escape-goats can be created, we create them every 3rd month, yet the wont save us or hide our flaws no more.

We fail as individuals. We were a collective unite once. Or so we are told by historians, writers, explorer’s, travel books and narratives told by our Mothers and their Mothers.. Soon we will be the myth told to children’s in schools and shown in Museums, Accurately inaccurate we write our history.

Defying the purpose of our honorary task, we dispute – divide – degenerate – decertifying our mission in life. Sufferings yet not sympathizing with the less fortuned. Suffers are for those who believe the transcendent powers swinging over the top of our head. A Goddess I wish to become in your eyes weary lights fire back at us, while you shelter me from the sad predicament I neglect to control my destiny.

I am human, woman, golden I can be – If they would set me free. I see more than what I saw yesterday. Tomorrow I might see you beside me. No rulers of this country is needed. Only a necessity to re-conquer our own minds, head and memory. Heritage is given to does who pay attention to the tales told by their family and the spirits of their baggage..

Ghosts are the storytellers of the past, the spirits are the fortune tellers of our ancestor’s victory. I am who I want to be. I was granted full immunity.. Immortality is for childish creatures. I believe that I can be the Goddess I wish to see when I wake up and face my reflection in the mirror.

Oh, how I wish to get away from my on deceptive mind and that old grey inception ally in scripted weary sign. Struggling with healing my wishful personality and freshly pure printed smile on my light-skinned yet still dark-chocolaty face. Gracefully expecting that I will me neglected, rejected and subjected by all those who think I owe them me, my creations and wisely kept words.

I sigh and say my goodbyes to your cries that smell of treason and tragic endings. I wonder if you would go away and let my companion take His lawfully earned spot in the sunshiny light If I write the truth I’ve seen. The truth I see in your deceptive eyes.. I might do so to keep you from becoming a locally frequent guest. Regularly disliked like a thunder that struck in the spot at the wrong time.

I will not try to defeat you. For I don’t fear what I will accomplish, I am convinced that you ought to fear what is installed for me – future is bliss and blessed are we you believe in our own flavory flashpoint..

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