Emina1

Status: Living, Breathing, Wishing, Feeling
Joined: August 31, 2011
Last Seen: 2 years
Birthday: October 28
user id: 214067
Location: Nashville, Tennessee
Gender: F

Hey Guys My name is Rennie and I am 16 years young :) I blow out the candles on October 28th and I love to sing!
Other stuff I love:
Reading
Writing
Talking(I could talk all day lol)
procrastinating
Witty Profiles
walmart people
awesome socks
cute cuddly animals
friends
and a bunch of other stuff
Stuff I hate:
lies
life
bullies
food
my own self....
"perfect" people
"popular" people
math(bleh)
History(OMYGOD BLEGH!!)
and a bunch of other stuff!
If you are seriously reading this far I love you! Hey why are you stalking me?! *Hides in a corner* Haha Okay yes I'm weird but I love it. I mean everyone is wierd, there are just some people who try to be normal.
Ok bye bye Now read my quotes! Follow! Fav!
 ALSO I AM PANSEXUAL!!!!!!! :D


My Current Work In Progress:
http://www.wattpad.com/story/12232095-the-misconceived-life-of-a-pathological-liar  
My Watt-Pad: 
http://www.wattpad.com/user/Emina333
My Quotev: http://www.quotev.com/27742102

Quotes by Emina1

I’ve always said that you can tell my emotional state by the state of my room or car.
If they’re a mess, then my mind is a mess-
crawling with thoughts constantly dragging my attention away from reality.
If my room is neat, pristine, organized, well then I would be worried.
My mind is never silent.
It’s always active, always darting back to a new thought like a tongue to a hole from a  freshly pulled tooth.
But in my mess, there is an organization that no one else can spot.
For instance, my nail polish is always under the left-hand side of my bed,
just like how my earrings are always scattered in the carpet by my closet door.
Most people look at my room and can’t find a clear piece of flooring to walk on.
My mother looks at my room and sees clutter,
and my father sees a fire waiting to happen with my tangle of cords for my numerous lamps and chargers.
I see comfort.
I see a place where I can relax.
I see a place I can get away from the world.
I see more secrets than a diary, and more tears than a funeral home.
I see more sleepless nights than a solider at war,
and I see more random bursts of inspiration than an artist.
My room is a world away from the world.
My room is my own reality.
So, when I refuse to clean my room, and others get mad at me, I feel truly frustrated.
It wouldn’t make sense to anyone else.
They won’t see the blood that has dripped onto my pillow from slicing my wrist open at one in the morning,
and they won’t see the smiles that come from last night skype sessions with friends.
They won’t see all the times my stuffed animals came to life.
And they won’t see the dreams I have created.
My room is my reverie.
Cleaning it would be destroying it.
I only wish more people understood. 
Oh, you're in my viens,
and I cannot get you out
oh you're all I taste
at night inside of my mouth
This is an open letter to my forbidden lover. Feel free to read it
https://www.wattpad.com/214626001-an-open-letter-to-my-forbidden-lover-to-my-love
Little do you know all my mistakes are slowly drowning me
"Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get
the happiness inside him. Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious
that eating paint couldn’t possibly have any direct correlation to one’s happiness,
but I never saw that. If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possibly work, l
ike painting the walls of your internal organs yellow, then you are going to do it. It’s really no different than falling in love or taking drugs.
There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing,
but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better. Everyone has their yellow paint."
 
"Vincent Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would get
the happiness inside him. Many people thought he was mad and stupid for doing so because the paint was toxic, never mind that it was obvious
that eating paint couldn’t possibly have any direct correlation to one’s happiness,
but I never saw that. If you were so unhappy that even the maddest ideas could possibly work, l
ike painting the walls of your internal organs yellow, then you are going to do it. It’s really no different than falling in love or taking drugs.
There is a greater risk of getting your heart broken or overdosing,
but people still do it everyday because there was always that chance it could make things better. Everyone has their yellow paint."
 
She was like smoke: 
Interesting to look at. 
Moving so intricately in her dance, 
she entranced all those who watched. 
She encapsulated the depth of a soul. 
She was the personification of darkness, 
and the bringer of light to destroy it. 
She flowed so freely like the wind. 
Nothing could hold her to this world. 
Touching her was useless. 
She fell right through any fingers reaching for her. 
I remember finding that odd, 
as she had touched every heart to 
come in contact with her. 
I once asked her why she had to go. 
her response was a whisper in my ear 
and laughter like bells. 
I never got a response. 
I suppose she had other places to be. 
She was always transforming, 
changing, 
flowing, 
running. 
She never stayed in one place for long- 
always choosing to follow the beauty 
that intrigued her, 
and never noticing that she, herself, 
held that same beauty. 
But then again, 
She was like smoke.
We were once children, 
Young and innocent. 
We saw the world with open minds, 
And an untainted imagination. 
We sought out the simple things, 
Not realizing that the world 
Contained such things as 
Petrifying as hate. 
We were once wild and free, 
Unchained by the worries and 
stresses accompanying growing up. 
We never once thought twice 
about looks and bills. 
Instead wondering around in mismatched 
socks with unruly hair. 
We were once forgiving. 
Holding grudges was a foreign thing. 
So often we forgave and went 
on with the lives we cherished. 
We were once blind. 
We were blind to the corruption surrounding us. 
We did not see the disabled as weak, 
And we did not see the world as cruel. 
But we are no longer children. 
We can finally see.