Personal Message
k.taeyeon
the day you’ll fly even higher Butterfly, Everybody’s gonna see it soon,
❝There are no rules.
That is how art is born, how breakthroughs happen.
Go against the rules or ignore the rules. That is what invention is about.❞
That is how art is born, how breakthroughs happen.
Go against the rules or ignore the rules. That is what invention is about.❞
for some reason..
This plight felt oddly familiar..
To you, whoever you may be.
Sickly sweet floral fragrance that crinkles the nose and burns the lungs is a scent she could live without, tone emollient towards the harsh catcalls of society. never one to raise her voice, despite the power that exudes from the very diaphragm that's controlled over several courses of her own. her smile may be scintillic, only quirking at the most opportune moments, but she's always true. never one to hold a cromulent facade towards students and faculty - unless it involved the past. that was a story for another day, one that she reflects on often as the date creeps close the the inevitable reminisce of her personal metanoia. her classroom rituals are sacrosanct, on a constant drive to let artistry flow through shutters of cameras and collages of magazine cut-outs. stop by, she keeps her classroom plenty stocked with ice cream sandwiches and a comfortable stage to rest your weary bones.
9
march
no- don't say cheese!
single
◉
sapioual
◌
mixed media
●
cheer&choir
○
" make me"
lover.
+
cognizant ⌘
The girl with her head in the clouds,
"An upbringing like every other, with parents that waltzed around with nicotine clinging to their plush coats, onyx lungs exuding lies upon lies as they hid the stain of their perfection from the light of day. A girl of merely the age of six tossed into an unforgiving system of turmoil, on a constant downward spiral that scraped the knees of her emotional strings, ripping her heart to shreds and breaking the very dreams that once sparkled in the bright, hazel orbs. Double digits roll around the corner, and her life shot for the better, the couple of cordiform lips as beautiful as the very muscles in their chest, beating for her, with her, arms coiling around her shoulders and bringing her higher and higher into the clouds once more. Rebuilding together, through steps and stairs of trial, travelling not only their home country, but others. The Spaniard solace off the coasts of Spain, the haughty but quaint upturned nose of France, and the bubbly shores of Los Angeles. California becoming her home after so many, digging her toes into the roots at the mere age of fourteen. Her arms reached towards the sky on the very first day of school, but not for what many would think. The lead heavy weapon pointed at the middle of her forehead, smoke pluming from the molten rim as trepidation flashed along the glinted polish of the pistol. That was where her spiral began. Thrown once more into the system, but not the one she'd experienced before. A group of friends that showed her the monsters of youth, the monsters that stained nails and broke teeth, the monsters that rotted many brilliant brains and created cravings unlike any other. It was there that she met the most wonderful, most pure of girls, and it was there that she lost her. Her best friend among the wave of turgid turmoil lost to one night of Ecstasy, and not the pleasurable kind. That overdose that sent her into a fit of shock, body shutting down. It was there that her friend died in her arms, and it was there that she was beat for the consequences. Police had already began filtering in, a tip off of neighbors that had witnessed a too rambunctious basement, and it was only the beating she'd received from the boys and girls of her school did she get a wave off, no drugs in her system, no visible marks of taking anything, just the bruises along her ribs and the rips along her stomach. It was in those nights spent at the hospital, curled up, did she rewrite her daunting metanoia, following a more calm path into school, following her dreams at a more soft, quiet pace. It was there that her youth ended, but it was there that her true self bloomed. "
"An upbringing like every other, with parents that waltzed around with nicotine clinging to their plush coats, onyx lungs exuding lies upon lies as they hid the stain of their perfection from the light of day. A girl of merely the age of six tossed into an unforgiving system of turmoil, on a constant downward spiral that scraped the knees of her emotional strings, ripping her heart to shreds and breaking the very dreams that once sparkled in the bright, hazel orbs. Double digits roll around the corner, and her life shot for the better, the couple of cordiform lips as beautiful as the very muscles in their chest, beating for her, with her, arms coiling around her shoulders and bringing her higher and higher into the clouds once more. Rebuilding together, through steps and stairs of trial, travelling not only their home country, but others. The Spaniard solace off the coasts of Spain, the haughty but quaint upturned nose of France, and the bubbly shores of Los Angeles. California becoming her home after so many, digging her toes into the roots at the mere age of fourteen. Her arms reached towards the sky on the very first day of school, but not for what many would think. The lead heavy weapon pointed at the middle of her forehead, smoke pluming from the molten rim as trepidation flashed along the glinted polish of the pistol. That was where her spiral began. Thrown once more into the system, but not the one she'd experienced before. A group of friends that showed her the monsters of youth, the monsters that stained nails and broke teeth, the monsters that rotted many brilliant brains and created cravings unlike any other. It was there that she met the most wonderful, most pure of girls, and it was there that she lost her. Her best friend among the wave of turgid turmoil lost to one night of Ecstasy, and not the pleasurable kind. That overdose that sent her into a fit of shock, body shutting down. It was there that her friend died in her arms, and it was there that she was beat for the consequences. Police had already began filtering in, a tip off of neighbors that had witnessed a too rambunctious basement, and it was only the beating she'd received from the boys and girls of her school did she get a wave off, no drugs in her system, no visible marks of taking anything, just the bruises along her ribs and the rips along her stomach. It was in those nights spent at the hospital, curled up, did she rewrite her daunting metanoia, following a more calm path into school, following her dreams at a more soft, quiet pace. It was there that her youth ended, but it was there that her true self bloomed. "
reality. ⌘
+ trxsh atelier rpr edit @ vivaldi
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