It’s strung together through the fibers on the back of the lost

Dreams that leave you sweat-stained and hopeful

How dare we doubt ourselves?

In the midst of our mist and making, we think to miss?

in this town

words hold hostages

not meaning.

if i cry i will

bleed, and i will

lose,

integrity and i will

rip apart the frontdrop that has

made my portraits pretty

for (maybe) minutes on end.

What are we here for?

Might there be a purpose that is more?

Maybe only time can tell the true meanings of our lives; it doesn’t lie.

That’s the power behind our efforts that continue till we die.

I am an ordinary school girl,

I have homework,

I have assignments,

I have essays,

and I have tests.

What is life?

Is it the short time between birth and death?

Is it a chance to do something?

If it is, then what?

Do we pursue happiness?

Do we try to help others?

Or are we all here to fulfill a purpose?