I look at the art. Artists are dead. I look at the art. Artists are dead.

Dwelling in ones insecurities and fears. Dwelling in ones insecurities and fears.

This poem talks about the struggles of a Bipolar adolescent who throughout her young age battles var... This poem talks about the struggles of a Bipolar adolescent who throughout her y...

There was always something unsaid between us. There was always something unsaid between us.

She was neither is shorts nor in a skirt She was neither is shorts nor in a skirt

I feel guilty for unleashing my emotions on other people, Like I’m bothering them, I feel guilty for unleashing my emotions on other people, Like I’m bothering ...