I was the outcast that was shunned by the other word

I Learned that you need to rebuild after you crumble

Before the great gusts of California, coast winds blow me away.

I have Held snakes for years and learned to know that they will always be my best comfort and my own escape from reality, escape to my own heaven's gate.

I have heard words that the faint of heart could yet not hold or grasp, and yet those same words shaped me into

Nothing.

I have lost my emotions, feelings, and heart.

This was my mark into the product of nothing and the complete absence of thought

I have lost my sense of reality and how that has pushed me to the edge of my forgetful fantasy feelings.

I saw the white raven.

Such beauty and art.

Then I have learned that to be different is an imperfection used as an art

I was always the last to be picked, chosen, and seen and will always be the last one to succeed

Then I have learned that the white raven was my mark, my soul, my personality.

I keep that in my mind no matter where I go, whether it be at outside with people or inside my head.

Abuse after abuse is what really shaped the poor raven into who he is as a person

And if it wasn't for it, the poor raven wouldn't have been the same.

Shot after Shot of sadness and pain, the raven couldn't contain.

The pain from the abrasive poison of misery is what really brought the raven to its knees,

And broke him.

I was left with wounds of anxiety and insomnia with ADD soon to come.

But little did the raven know that he would rebirth and grow off of what shot him.

I have often lost my mental state, driven to the point of the breaking but survived off of pure succession.

The sheer growth of writing is what made the raven break the chains of pain, struggle, and rumble

And used this freedom to continue his woe in words.

I am the white raven.

the outcast,

The destroyed,

the defiled