A part of me died on the battlefield and a part of me was born. Vulnerability shed like peeling skin. Trust from my core was torn. I was caught between a disassembled heart and a young and fearful mind. I made peace with these pieces as I fell apart with the courage that I made mine.
ALETHEIA LIOLAEndless consumption will not make you feel whole suffer, stained items are not good for the soul.
More Aletheia Liola Quotes
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Trust insinuates that the human race is unfailing, faultless, flawless, and perfect.
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I think we all long for someone we can be disgustingly honest with, and for them to love us anyway, and stay.
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I survived the darkness. Crawled. Clawed. Endured. Untangled lies from truth. This wisdom is my sword.
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Abstruse spite bleeds from their mouth. I hear the venom, It’s screaming so loud, And yet so benign Reaction, not roused Their “nasty”, so nice The beast lost its shroud.
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Have faith in the fall. Sometimes life knocks us down so that we can discover what resides at the bottom of it all.
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I give forgiveness like salt and pepper in a restaurant – Turn my world upside down and it’ll pour out of me, flowing freely, until I’m empty.
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I dragged my pain into the darkness, I carried it into the light – No matter where I choose to take it, This pain refuses to subside. I washed my sins off in the ocean, I prayed all my badness away, Whichever God I choose to worship, I cannot make my soul be saved.
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I am worthy and steely. I will conquer again. Truth as my armor; My sword is my pen. Tell me I can’t and I’ll show you I will surviving and thriving is my refined skill.
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My core; shook and rumbled. My being; awakened, humbled. My psyche; aligned, revives. My flesh; survived and thrives. This moment. The presence. A gift. Breathe. Smile. Be happy. Exist. Exhale. Relax. Surrender. Inspire. Inhale. Trust. Love. Respire.
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Wound to wisdom, pain to power. A seed of grief, now time to flower.
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So what do we say to each other is the language of unspoken? The words are sweet; the space is bitter or is this just the them I’ve chosen.
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After the flood, the colors were brightened demand tears of pain to feel so enlightened. Lassoed hope from the clouds that caused it to rain, divine intervention to feel love again.
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Clutching a burning match, he said “look, and she’ll explode”. Ignored the gas he poured; his match caused my implode.
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I have a habit of seeing through the cloak that they wear to hide what truly resides in their soul. I have a habit of tearing out skeletons from the blackest of closets; although it’s never the goal. I have a habit of forcing others to look in the mirror, at the darkest parts of their soul. And I no longer want to play the role.
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I compare myself to the leaves; dead, yet dancing in the breeze. Is it meant to hurt this much, falling from the trees?
ALETHEIA LIOLA