AllieBadas7

If I were a painting, don't be Van Gogh I'm not Mona Lisa, The scream, or Girl with a pearl earring I'm painted by you, with paint and a brush Created by your heart and desire With curves, straight lines and splatters Shaded, pin pointed and put into a frame With each and every detail I'm created by you An artist like no other Good or bad, your brilliant, you see? Maybe not wonderful, but always great in some way Don't question your art as "bad" or "terrible" You tried, and that's what makes it beautiful

Smoke ate away her lungs Like her 4 year old daughter's In that house fire 5 years ago Smoking a cancer stick To forget that day Smoke took her daughter away While she waited awhile In that hospital bed To die the same way her daughter did

Am I happy? Why do you ask me that question constantly? Is it because I go to high school where it's common to get bullied? Or the fact that I dress more like someone my opposite gender? Is it because of my parents departure? Is it because of the painful drugs that nestle tightly inside of my brain? Is it because of the solitude I spend in my room crying? Is it because I never talk about how I feel? Why do you always ask me this silly question? Aren't the scars on my arms able to tell you enough? Or the comments of assholes who post shitty stuff? Are my tear stained cheeks not able to see? Will my obese body ever become bony? Of

This Family of mine My Dad. A wise man after his father. Another reckless driver who disobeys the rule of the road. One who has good looks but doesn't think so. Can spit out humor without even trying. Easy to like and love, My Dad. My Mom. A relaxed but stressed woman. Has a thing for Bud-light and back messages. One who is easy to talk to. Terrible driver, but gets good humor. Easy to befriend and chat to, My Mom. My Older brother. A strange and unique person. Someone you can't describe with words but with meaning. A talking dictionary. Dinosaur expert, and a good otaku buddy. Someone original, My Older brother. My Younger brother. A vio

My Trip West I felt sorry for the woman with the 9 inch nails, heavy purple make-up, and dry dyed blonde hair. With the half smoked cigarette between her wrinkled fingers. Who people called trash at age 62. When the eyes bore down on her withered figure, even when she acted like the intimidation didn't strike her. While she sat on the street corner, brain fried like dead chicken in the summer heat. That's where her work brought her each and every night. That's the job that gave her three mistakes she couldn't afford. Where gross predators lerk for there prey, waiting to capture her for there next meal. Then once she's bones, they leave her,

I ran for what felt like hours. The Military were after me for something I can't remember. Why cant I remember? I could hear the trampling hooves behind me growing louder with each step I took, making me panic over the thought of being captured. "Shit, there close." I tilted my head, looking back at the blurry lights that flicker in the distance. The woods was a nice place to start this game of hide and go seek. My body blended with the shadows of the night and the rain covered my already dirty outfit in mud. I couldn't remember. Nothing. Almost as if someone purposely made me forget. I can only remember one thing. My name. (F/n) (L/n). Th