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ThE DiVinE SaNcTuArY oF aLiCia
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My Writing

Tell me what ya think

Shoelaces:

They are untied,
Messy and falling off,
Causing her to trip.
Just like her soul,
Pieces strung out everywhere,
Making her fall deeper and deeper into her tears.
She tucks the laces into her shoes,
Not bothering to tie them,
But for now they are hidden away.
Just like her worries,
Tucked away inside her,
Hidden from the world,
Making yet another temporary solution.
The tucked away laces begin to bulge out on the edges,
Showing through to the rest of the world.
Just like her pain which is making it's way back to the top
And everyone can see it's arrival.
And every day these laces are tucked away,
And every day they make their way out again.
Just like everything inside her.
Then one day, the tucked away laces start slipping out
She doesn't bother to tuck them away.
What is the use?
They always rise to the top.
Then as she walks, the shoes slip off.
She falls to the ground,
Her tears explode.
If only she would have taken the time to tie them.




An artist's Makeup

I've seen so many artists
who can paint everything
but themselves.
You think makeup would come natural
to those who find a landscape
in everything.
Yet,
it never seems to be that way.
Now,
one may say it's because the common artist
is not the kind to care about looks.
Well, to a degree
I can agree with that.
But then why do you see so many artists
with makeup caked faces
of improfections?
If they didn't care
they would spare the body paint
all together.
How is it that one
can paint so many emotions,
can detect so much pain,
yet so much happiness.
Can tie together the lose ends
of everyone else.
But when trying to hide
behind their own majical touch
cannot?
Do we hate ourselves that much
that we can't even put our best traits to use on us?

Now,
on the other hand,
we have this makeup artists.
A tanned skin,
blonde haired,
beauty,
with a vocabulary of 10 words.
She has never seen deeper
than a teaspoon of thought,
yet she canpain on that fake smile.
Or the intelligent, mysterious look.
She can paint on looks
she doesn't even know
or recognize.

My artist has died
long before I knew of her soul.



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