Echoes From Dead Trees

Such a timid girl I had become; disconnected, afraid of the world; a simple girl and her words longing to be heard, but whose voice was trapped in a stranglehold.  That fear became my driving force in claiming my birthright as a writer.  My pen became my greatest weapon, spilling from it the things I was so desperate to say.

My voice now echoes loudly from dead trees, reaching other fractured souls like mine.

Heed my words sweet girl, “Do not let this cruel world harden your heart, its delicacy is what makes you beautiful.  Do not let the daggers that slip from loose lips cut too deeply.  You are perfect in every imperfection, for the careless thoughts they mutter are merely self-reflections.”

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