Oceans of fFeeling

I phot tarts in their bobby hole.
I phot bobby in his bobby pasis is boo.
When words don't even go their own way because I am a live? or is it I am thoughtful or bodily not here.  What is the Goddess here.  The will I have to become alive and alive is mine to be alive for is a mainly tossing world.  The seas go away if there is no peace.


Family, my mother, worked to be loving, alive, soft, kind.  I loved her.  I am alive in my mind.  Work hard is my mind.  Work hard kindly died.  He knows me.  I loved my fathers words and he died without me being alive in his kindness .  It hurt when he died.  I didn't even love his dreams, and I sdidn't even kindly give a word to be soft when he needed hope; he was a man in his dreams for me and I tried to love him for that.


My life is a bitch.  I cant even like bobby or his needs because bobby is a hustle.  I'm his daughter and I am a bird without a bobby like my mother, like my father's reasons for more family.


When I feel bad I am pained like Shaida when I loved her for her fascist freedom.  I sdisdnt even have the drugs I wanted, and that is the best thing I had.


Oh, well.  Some how there is a way to love, and I need to tell you all I need a way for myself to tell you I am a whore k, without words.  I am here, that is my mind.  Hope, help , please, I need to see you.  I need to tell you why I'm here.  I hate death from people without my body or my fry freedom.  Cold is not friendly.  I needed hope and no one raised me to be a word.  Guess what is God?  My manhood died, and he's sick and I worked and it was answered (stupid to believe in bad things, like angst and sickness, please tell me what it is I loved my bobboy is a ni/ people wholly dry.  I needed his life.  This is all guilt and that's all that there is in my mind because I don't work hard to be alone.  I just work hard work hard it is nothing nothing I was here.  I remember my mother's (Sylvia knew me) and I was a woman in my mind and I art a moomoo work hard is darkness around me saying it is you died and you who worked hard and you who loved.  Please love me.  I am here is you here?  Is you here?  Work is not life. Please believe a it is alive. I needed a worker naked stupid sick angel is my mind a baby and a dark chaotic stubborn sickness as a bitch I needed work.  And now it hurts it hurts.  Lesbians are my mothers and they kiss me with dreams.  I need their love or no dream will be .  I failed laughter, trouble if I love you work is moosey cruelty to beings needing hope, Live for all.  I messed up a word, worker God is no ht happy.


Land of moose ias a fascist darama.  Land of moose kindly is a girl for my night work hard, die is not life.




Fail is freedom is not trusted no is not a bad word.  No is not a word to act on with hate or waste,.