Happiness Death Pain Rusty Rose

I have never thought that there was beauty that felt groovy like a base called omens.

Omens remember what poems are.  I have so much foolish anger.  I don't know why I think of feelings as safe.  I have been crazy and that is so painful.

This is what I have been making hopeful:  a lot of reasoning (rationalizing), peace (numbness), and cruelty(fear).

I was poor when I knew change.  I was cold when I felt peace.  This coldness is hate of my dreams, which are:  love, laughter, and peace.  I hate these because I am a woman who is:  fearful of my own needs, which are:  beauty, softness, hope, (what am I suppressing?) (what is life?) home (strength to grieve my life).

I never thought that I was good to people because I was not pain.  I WAS happy when I was 4.  Other kids were to me rough and dangerous and caused fear and embarrassment and a knowledge of contemptuousness in me.  People seemed to me determined to prove their fearless desire to destroy barriers to their own pride.  Now I am the person that I felt was cruel.  I hate it.  I need to make this place hopeful.  You can not OWN bodies.

I love the way that home is the only way to be what is strong.  I suppose I need protection.  I would also like to give protection.  These knowledges only make me want to give love to that strength which needed my beauty.  Who was that?  The one who was cheating my feelings of love by giving life to my failure.  Who?  That is my estrogen (girl, you are trying to be stupid).  You are poem of hope.  By "my failure" I am trying to say that I am below the place that I was when I thought I was free.  This is hurting me because I am truthfully hopeful.

Please just tell me what it is that made your li(v)es safe?  And mine hateful?  I am not the only one with hope.  I am not the only one who is changing.

I retract my assertion that I am life to anyone without being strong for my feelings.  These are:  I am chasing pain because it is the only way to be creepy to my friend.  I am tired of this.  I am not the only strong (not strong) failure that ever existed.  I thought you were the person who would be safe.  I am cruel because of my own hatred for blustering peace (netherworld dreams of failure are the only way to be safe if you want to make others die for their actions.)  I am not interested in doing what was the only argument that was anger:  my need to be a failed pagan.

You who are reading this must know that I was your failure.  I failed you and myself because I was wrong about that woman who is that hopeful person with good in her life.  She is a free person.  I am sorry I thought otherwise.  I was the only person who would be cold because of that cruelty of being  mothered for my laughter.  I knew what Goddesses are.

Let it be:  I am girlie in a way that is peaceful.

You are safe.

This is nearly unreadable.  I apologize.  This is how I make myself alive.  Perhaps ha! I will return to it later and make it understandable.

It hurts to be bored.