Look to the sky.

#sylleblossom - journal entries. 
#moonflower - fanfiction links.
#baby's breath - any creative writing. 
#violet - potentially mature content. 
#lavender - written with my muse in mind. 

If it's about my muse, that icon will take precedence over any other. 

Not normal.

For as long as I can remember, there has existed a deep sense of longing and yearning within my soul; so much that it has ripped me apart to shreds. But I know that no man, woman, or spirit can soothe it, because my body and my feelings are not of this current world. It is incongruent to a society that has deemed me a changeling child, a creature to be othered—and when this beast I am is approached from a distance, even that is too much for me to bear. And I shrink and shy away into the pit again, but not before biting that hand until it bleeds. I cannot relate to a single one of my peers. I cannot maintain a long-term relationship, whether it be platonic or romantic. I am constantly tormented by this fact that I do not belong here, and I never will belong here, and I will never be a normal woman, and I will always just be a starving wolf, gnashing my teeth and licking my stitches, cleaning the wounds of the doe-eyed girl I wish I still was.