We are constantly searching for a star, to wish upon or some sort of genie to counsel our wish and whim. My meaning for saintly living , too well wishes, their are no lamps to rub, I think My praying hands fell off and my faith has turned into a churning valve of hot raging molecules of fear and hatred. I’m afraid of failure, its my one weakness.
I only wish I knew what went wrong in kindergarten, I thought I was too afraid to give birth once and now I think I may still be wanting to be born again to. Experience it, “With who might I add”. I’m not perfect, always slim lacking confidence. I knew this sense I learned the idea of being conceived I almost why do I exist? I thought I thought I was so wonderful once I stayed in school kept relying on being tired in class, I hated the way I walked, then way I talked, the way the wind blew and nothing said, my name anymore. My life revolves around more than goals my life revolves around facing my fears, and forgetting a lot of hopes and memories, I remember feeling less fertile and first grade and playing house as the grandmother during recess because i felt the least prettiest as the others girls in grade school.
Life is conceived by chance, and my existence is not a mistake ,no one could ever be a mistake, although I’ve made many mistakes taken many painful licks in the backside.I still think my bones my rare and unwanted, my blood is not sick but I’m for some still lack excitement for my existence. I still wanted to be happy of course, but I wanted happiness from freedom, freedom of press,