I See Everything

I See Everything

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing1h 19m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Oct 2, 2017
Rachel, You think her life is sweet but your dead wrong. She wants everything to end right now but it's just not happening. She sees stuff that she never wants to see, she has a good family but some are annoying. But one day, she's ready to battle everything. It's gonna take patience, to be brave, have courage.. but. They're gonna get revenge if she carries on. Then even more revenge... but she needs to be careful because one day...what if she stops breathing and never wakes up again. ( NOTE : I'm still working on the story and making improvements.) ( by the way, this will have some romantic stuff in it i don't know you choose guys ) (IMPORTANT NOTE : This is the first story I'm making and I'm a very sensitive person, you probably don't care but everyday I cry and no one cares. So if it's okay please be nice I'm also new to wattpad and I have memory loss so I'm extremely sorry if I repeat things D: ! I really hope that you enjoy it though! :P And have a splendid day / night. I also have spelling mistakes because I rush.)
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FINISHED AND COMPLEATED. Just poems, I suppose. Or maybe a scrapbook of scars. A chaotic collage of half-born stories, abandoned plots, and feelings too loud to ignore. This isn't a novel. It's a graveyard of unwritten books- stitched together with ink and impulse. A little trauma here, a little heartbreak there. Addiction. Bad parents. Dangerous love. The usual mess. I never claimed to be a poet, but pain has a way of teaching rhythm. And when the stories in my head refused to become chapters, they became verses instead. My father? A ghost in flesh. A man who cradled needles more tenderly than he ever held me. He is an addict. A lover of oblivion. And I, the daughter left behind in the smoke of his escape. Does that make me a girl with "daddy issues"? Or just a girl still learning how not to bleed from wounds she didn't choose? This book is for the overthinkers, the almost-authors, the ones who feel too much and write too little- until the words finally spill out like blood on the page. Welcome to the ride. There's no exit. But there's poetry in the wreckage. Author's Note I didn't set out to write a book. I set out to survive my own mind. This is what happens when you have too many stories, too many ghosts, and not enough discipline to finish a single novel. So instead, I wrote poems- or something like them. Fragments. Feelings. Flashbacks. A scrapbook of the soul. Some of these pieces are fiction. Some are memory. Some are just what happens when you stare at the ceiling too long and let your thoughts rot into poetry. If you've ever had a thousand ideas and no idea where to start- if you've ever felt too broken to write but too full not to- this is for you. Thanks for riding with me. There's no map. No neat ending. Just the wreckage, and the words we make from it.

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