Her skin is the color of moonlight on a winter's eve. Her eyes have many stories to tell, and are the color of rich coffee. Two sugars, one cream. Just how she likes it. She smells of lilac, cotton, and cigarettes. Her hair is the black of midnight. Her sense of style is unexplainable. She doesn't like long walks on the sunny shores, instead, she prefers to cuddle up with her camera or a book by Stephanie Meyer or Laurell K. Hamilton. There is more to her than what's on the outside. What you see on the outside is simply her body, not a toy for your mindless sex games, not a h*** you can stick your half-staff two inch d*** into, but a beautiful being who would rather soak in a bathtub surrounded by candles rather than go out and party with the drunk kids. She adores art, anything and everything about it. Writing is another passion she has, and she's doing more than well in it. She doesn't need a high school diploma to state how smart she is, for all the lessons she's ever needed to know, she has learned herself. Despite all the tears she has shed, all the screams that have escaped, and all the turmoil that has erupted, she stands tall and strong. She has her breakdowns, but she will always overcome. She is not alone, there's more to her, she knows. She will make it out. She will live to tell. And she just may write about it one day, possibly in a song, or in a book, maybe even paint it on a street side so everyone can see it. She loves, she laughs, she's a human being. She's...me.