blueangel728

They have talent– you can just tell– by the way their hands move over the canvas gently directing the colors in a vibrant symphony guided by their gifted muse. "Those non-art people Post their work and think it's so great When it's really not. It makes me cringe when I see their stuff That's not even good at all." Do they have the power to judge Determine in someone's life Weaknesses, what they can and cannot do? Do they have the right to say What is good and what is bad Because they have all the power, the gifts in their favor? I do not envy their talent. I do not criticize their criticism. I pity them,

note: when I first wrote them, I didn't divide them into chapters, but rather sections, so yeah...    It was my house. I was sure it was my house. What other house here had made an effort to look good? How did she do it? How does she know it’s mine?    “ Hey! That’s my house!” I exclaim stupidly. Misery blinks at me, showing no signs of amusement.    “ Yes, it is. Did you doubt me?” Was she hurt by my comment? Possibly. I couldn’t tell.    “ No, I didn’t. I was just…surprised.”    “ That I knew?”    “ Hmm?” I turn my head to face her. Her ey

    When father said we were moving, he didn’t mention the forgotten town, the ghostly residents, and the graveyard as a playground.    Everywhere I looked, the faces of the people were more dead than alive. Even the clumps of grass in the already dead earth seemed hopeless. The town seemed more gray than the skies above, which for some reason was always cloudy.    No matter what kind of things my mother said, nothing can make this shabby town look any better.    We had moved in for three days before actually settling down. Those three days were spent ‘cleaning up’ the place. We swept the dust off the floors, knocked ou