and the story continues...
#1 I met her by the radiance of the gigantic tree.
#2 Glowing brightly in the mist of ice, it frowned upon the spectators.
#3 Sent far from its home in Canada, it was slain for the sake of beauty.
#4 For beauty is rarely found in this cluster of chaos. And now standing tall in Rockefeller center, it never looked more beautiful than in death.
#5 It was the perfect place.
#6 It takes a tragedy, a death for something significant to occur.
#7 Only then will people listen, when we all become beautiful.
#8 Art is never modeled after perfection, just the hidden marvel deep within distortion.
#9 The beauty within a crooked smile or a wilting flower.
Messages between the lines, between the words.
#10 How this all started is a painting within itself.
#11 We have to find the messages to truly understand.
#12 Every Thursday night at eight we’d gather for our support group for victims of domestic violence.
#13 Gathered around the table were women crippled by the theories of backwards feminism.
#14 Raped, anorexic, tainted and emotional...only one should be a characteristic of most women.
#15 Our sensitivity to emotions is where we fall.
#16 It could be have been anyone.
#17 There sat he sad statuette slumped over her slim body.
#18 Strands of ebony hang loose in her porcelain face.
#19 Once so confident, so glamorous and bright in the billboard hanging in Times Square, now squeezed into a corner too scared to pose in the spotlight.
#20 Or maybe it was the waitress who serves you coffee with a smile every morning in the little café on the corner of Fifth Avenue.
#21 Except now her smile’s faded from the obscene marks hanging over her right eye.
#22 And then it came to us, the scholars of our generation.
#23 Smart enough to breach the walls of New York University , but not smart enough to prohibit power sliding into the hands of measly men.
#24 I didn’t meet Jennifer in our support group.
#25 But I didn’t know her until we were seated across from each other in tiny plastic chairs located in the downstairs clinic, sharing our mutual disgust of men.
#26 I noticed her a few rows down from me in Psychology 101.
#27 She seemed so enticed, so intrigued by the theories of what makes us tick.
#28 I later found out that it was obviously her major, mine, creative writing.
#29 But ever since I breached NYU’s walls, the creative flow stopped.
#2 Glowing brightly in the mist of ice, it frowned upon the spectators.
#3 Sent far from its home in Canada, it was slain for the sake of beauty.
#4 For beauty is rarely found in this cluster of chaos. And now standing tall in Rockefeller center, it never looked more beautiful than in death.
#5 It was the perfect place.
#6 It takes a tragedy, a death for something significant to occur.
#7 Only then will people listen, when we all become beautiful.
#8 Art is never modeled after perfection, just the hidden marvel deep within distortion.
#9 The beauty within a crooked smile or a wilting flower.
Messages between the lines, between the words.
#10 How this all started is a painting within itself.
#11 We have to find the messages to truly understand.
#12 Every Thursday night at eight we’d gather for our support group for victims of domestic violence.
#13 Gathered around the table were women crippled by the theories of backwards feminism.
#14 Raped, anorexic, tainted and emotional...only one should be a characteristic of most women.
#15 Our sensitivity to emotions is where we fall.
#16 It could be have been anyone.
#17 There sat he sad statuette slumped over her slim body.
#18 Strands of ebony hang loose in her porcelain face.
#19 Once so confident, so glamorous and bright in the billboard hanging in Times Square, now squeezed into a corner too scared to pose in the spotlight.
#20 Or maybe it was the waitress who serves you coffee with a smile every morning in the little café on the corner of Fifth Avenue.
#21 Except now her smile’s faded from the obscene marks hanging over her right eye.
#22 And then it came to us, the scholars of our generation.
#23 Smart enough to breach the walls of New York University , but not smart enough to prohibit power sliding into the hands of measly men.
#24 I didn’t meet Jennifer in our support group.
#25 But I didn’t know her until we were seated across from each other in tiny plastic chairs located in the downstairs clinic, sharing our mutual disgust of men.
#26 I noticed her a few rows down from me in Psychology 101.
#27 She seemed so enticed, so intrigued by the theories of what makes us tick.
#28 I later found out that it was obviously her major, mine, creative writing.
#29 But ever since I breached NYU’s walls, the creative flow stopped.