the death of creativity.

One of the worst thing we can do is to kill our creativity.

We even do this by forgetting about it, that too is killing.

I used to be this person that wrote, painted, drew, took photos and sat and played with a keyboard or computer programs and ‘made’ music.
I was so creative, I was so free – I wasn’t in a box.

I trapped myself.
A soul that lusts for freedom.
Freedom of the mind.

A lot of weird shit goes on in my brain, but it’s like I’ve let society suppress this – with my own consent and will of course.
How cruel is that? How awful is that?

Why would I ever let go of my ways of expression?
No wonder I felt and feel like I do. I’ve trapped myself, I am a prisoner of my own mind.
I am a prisoner of my own thought patterns, patterns that were fed to me through society.


How can something as beautiful as being unique become something awful and rejected by society?

You know what, yes I am weird. I like drawing weird shit, because my mind is unique.
But I don’t care.

I don’t care any longer.

I don’t care about anyone.
It’s about me.


Fuck society.
Fuck people.
Excuse my language.
But fuck it all.

I am not average. I am not like everyone else.
I will not try to be.
Life is extraordinary, life is beautiful – if you make it so.
I intend in doing so.

Who the hell wants to stare at the same things the rest of their lives ?
I don’t.

I am a traveller.
I am curious.
I am a world citizen.
I identify with everyone.

I am open minded.

Most importantly – I am beautiful.

I am beautiful.

I am beautiful no matter what anyone else thinks or says.

I am beautiful.


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