The never ending letter to my readers

Who I am.

I have no idea, whatsoever.
Today, I am 28, alive.
I whisper sweet nothings
into my own ears. A writer,
an honest liar. With good intentions
but even that tends to change at times.

So, who am I? No idea.

I suppose I could be a role model,
to someone who can't voice their pain.
I've mastered that skill, without comparison
since writing is incomparable to any other
type of artistry.
Today a love letter, tomorrow a suicide note
Most of us have contemplated writing both,
at some point. 
My current moments are filled with skepticism.
I am unsure about all things around me,
things that are precious, things that seem rotten,
and in many cases those two seem to coincide.

I believe that we all must serve with purpose. 
Make our presence known for more than what is
presented in the forefront. I truly believe that I am
brought here as an example of all things imperfect,
all human beings to strive to find what is normal,
for ourselves- never a representation of what is 
to be expected to others. I love harshly and 
unapologetically, I know that for many, that can be 
unacceptable- but this couldn't be learned unless I
make sure that I am honest with that intention. That,
I want to love. So much so- that there will never be a 
mistake made of condition, love stays with you in the afterlife,
we are forever inclined and destined to stay true to this;
love, I've become an advocate of this, and in many ways
I am a martyr- being killed over and over, all in the name
of remembrance, to never stop loving, in a place where it is taboo. 



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