Many dream of changes and I martyr I don't know.
I feel like I want another people. I want to love a woman. I want to be safe. I want to live happily.
No one is good as a moment of ashes.
I believed my life was my own. I believed my Goddess was thought. I feel drunk with pain.
I have no place to feel mature.
It is dumb but I am not safety. I am not thought. I am not foundations of happiness.
When you see me as junkies, when you love me as a woman's answer to a fink, when you see me as a test of art (Carney), then I am tossed with a rant. I cannot feel love and I do not believe in teachers.
I hope my sexuality is better than this.
I hope my feelings free my dreams from pain.
I am very sorry that I cannot change darkness into God. I am sorry I am not a family of flakes: I am changing a face and it is my thinking of face that I need to hack)
As now there is my friend money so there is my life peace.
What can possibly live with a people dreaming of teachers?
It is anger that made me teach. It is cold and it is racist to make God into a pope.
Edification and my life make me fold.
O baby and I am her wake.
My mother went to the emergency room today with grabbing back pains, not for the first time. She is on Vicodin. An hour or so ago I saw her sitting up asleep with her hands folded in prayer -- the first time I have ever seen her do that.
Please help me become less brutal.
I love you.
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