To the teachers, assassins of my creativity- I was never what you wanted, I was not one to conform to the rules and boundaries of the square in which you imprison yourselves. I was no ordinary child, I am what is known as an indigo child, but thanks to your continued oppression of my soul, I find myself as colourless as you. -This is no game, of words that cut again and again - Now …
showed first 75 words of 878 total

showed last 75 words of 878 total
…to see, to witness, to finally acknowledge and admire. My soul cries for its existence. I AM ME! I DO EXIST! See me for the fine spirit that I am. My spirit flows from my veins, deep, coloured, for all you to see. But you cannot judge me anymore, because this is mine, its not yours, and it never will be. --Some call this gouged graffiti cruel, but I have learned these words at school--