Apparently I'm confusing my brain. But that isn't weird when the fact is that I am trying to trick my brain into happiness. A paperbag would have been good as a barrier over the head of mine. A barrier to protect my psyche from the evil eyes, also called society. They're staring the soul out of me and shooting anxiety-spells. The tears can stream in truly freedom under that bag. Even though I'm pretty, I am not pretty enough for myself. Under the bag I can't stand in front of a mirror and create false fucking brain ghosts. Nothing can reach me under that paperbag, not even the truth. And the truth is that this is a stupid idea. Take care of your mental illness in some kind of way instead of ignoring your psyche when it's crying for help. (An example of the poems that I'm writing🌿<3)

Hans grönglittriga ögon, Hans perfekta kindben, Den gulliga näsan, De fina ögonfransarna och de söta läpparna. Jag förstår inte hur man kan vara så vacker som Felix Sandman. Sommarlovet är nära. Lyckan är stor när den femtonåriga Moa efter 2 hela år äntligen kommer närmre sin drömpojkvän. Ett sommarlov med Felix i sitt liv! Vad kan gå fel....?