Testimonial Acceptance part 1 (To be)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
I had a true beginning with all it's toppings, little did I know this would only be the appetizer much in favor to the grand entree destined after.

Submitted: January 25, 2017

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Submitted: January 25, 2017

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Testimonial Acceptance part 1 (To be)

 

I will be her.

  The second choice, the back up, the maybe, the lesser and denied. There's purpose in the wound of the torn and neglected and I intend to see it through so that one day my sorrows won't be so anymore.

I am 21 years old and I spend my spare time walking around a vacant lake, journaling in a random parade of cafes searching for a cliche romance to unwind while I sip down my third iced vanilla latte all the while sketching. I love stargazing and watching the sun rise accompanied by herbal teas and aroma therapy. I have a love for many things that preferably can not hurt me, like a nice book, I also adore children with a deep rooted respect for the arts and all forms of life (even the unfavorable and feared.)

I will be her.

The outside shadow, the knat on the fly on the wall, the punching bag and sponge of negative feed backs. There is destiny beneath the wails of my silent screams. 

I'm 21 years old and small knick knacks fascinate me and sweets are my only admited weakness. I collect plush bears, precious stones and anything victorian, vintage or vogue inspired. makeup and fashion are new trinkets in the charms of my personality. 

I will be her. 

The third wheel, the one most conversations feel uncomfortable around, the forgetable, the decieved. There is light in the abyss of the lost soul.

I'm 21 years old and the thought that despite what I may endure in this life, I am not alone, both comforts and haunts me. I loathe the dark and enclosed spaces. I cry often in solitude and am quite sensitive to words both said and infered. 

I will be her.

The one everyone wants to hear but never listen to, the one who makes the most light hearted of conversations an awkward pool of silence simply by participating and choosing a response that were unfavorable to the mood or those involved. There is redemption for the least of them.

I'm 21 years old and love willingly as I am hurt inevitably. The stillness of water calms me. I enjoy picnics, visiting museums and taking pictures, getting prizes from gumball machines and playing video games.

I will be her.

The one never invited but as guest to those chosen first, the silent noise, the phantom child by default if not by means. There is favor amoungst the forgotten.

I'm 21 years old and I use meditation through the holy word, art and literature to cope with the fact that I am in fact intollerable to most things, prone to first of rage, anxiety and depression. I use peace as a tool for balance in my life, or at least the idea of it as I am truthfully prone to self destruct on purpose. It is prayer that convinces me away from the mental gallows. 

I will be her. 

The odd one out, the last one picked if at all, the potiental sociopath in the mouths of all those who smile in my face and claim to "understand." Victory awaits within the hidden. 

I'm 21 years old and a coffee addict with a short fuse subdued by high endurance and will power to perserver. I am an aesthetic cliche and willing to finally admit it. most of my friends are now wed, mothers or fathers, promoted in ranks or leaving our quiant home town and I fail to conceal the strikes it all leaves behind or the tears that fall carelessly down my face because I feel I have no right to these joys or to feel deprived for I do not deserve them. I am a devoted youtube slave with an obsession with celebrity men twice my age, most of which I own books, movies and merch for. Some are not even real people. 

I will be her. 

The table for one, laughing at my own jokes, talking to the moon (you were never alone Bruno), the companion of failed relationships forced by association to weddings and baby showers whom spends tons on lavish gifts because; who else to do them for?

I will be her. 

The devoted saturdays at starbucks typing my inner turmoil away, solo shopping sprees for nothing that is needed but everything to distract me from the apoctalyptic chants my body craves  when it feels neglected, the silent object of staring and pity when topics of love, family and children arise in conversation amongst my peers and loved ones. 

I will be her

365 days a year, 7 days a week, 24 hours of every day, every second, hour and minute of each  breath I take and no longer will I be affraid of her, ashamed of her. aware will I be of the consequences of being her and willing to endure, knowing it will not be in vain, the pillow, the comforter, supporter, withered and beaten as the hardened and cold lay waste to the jack hammer of life.

I will be her.

For a new life shall she birth, a renewed vision of herself to become all of which is

me.  


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