I was born...SCORPIO

I was born to love.

I watched her walk to me, her long, slender frame swaying with each tiny step. Her radiant hair glowing in the rare moment of sunlight we'd been granted. Her smile wide and inviting as she opened her arms to me. I took that invitation, and stepped forward, meeting her enthusiasm with my own. She leaned down, and I stretched up, as we met lips, briefly. I knew that she'd always be my girl, even when she was someone else's. Our love was like no other, and would always transcend normal boundaries.

Because when I love, it's with a passion. They become my friends and my family, and a part of myself. Someone that I want to help, to protect, to help guide and strengthen. They receive my all.

I was born to rage.

I watched as the lies poured from his mouth, like water from the well. Like honey. And my heart constricted, venom pouring through my veins, scorching me from the inside out. Poisoning me until my vision is blurred and my mind races with only one single thought: He's done. Action was the only thing that would satisfy this creature inside me. This creature that calls for blood and sacrifice. Pain and mourning. This creature that claws through my ribcage, trying to escape this meager person that it has been placed inside.

I know my beast will never calm, nor can I control it, but I can try and maintain it. If I chose.

Which way do you want to cross me?

Please choose carefully, because my heart is fragile and my beast is unforgiving.

I was born to create.

That feeling pulled inside of me, stretching and begging to emerge. But in which form would it take? My fingers passed over these immobile squares, wondering if my need would form in words. Pulling the paint from it’s dust covered box, I opened one, smelling the sharp odor of ‘red’. The slick feeling between my fingers pained me. I missed these, but today was not their day. I ran from thought to thought, from writing, painting, scrap booking, sculpting, drawing, beading, photography, cooking and even organizing, trying to find my outlet for this inescapable need to create. To create something that will shake you your current state of mind. Something that will make you think, make you take a sharper breath, cause those gut wrenching rollercoaster feelings. To do something with my hands to express myself and who I am. Perhaps this is why I know myself so well.

I will create my life just the way I want it.

I was born to destroy.

I watched as his heart crumpled, and essentially I felt nothing. Nothing, except for excitement. I wanted to cause him pain, I wanted to watch while I crushed his hopes, his dreams, his heart. The sick glory that I derived from it. I told myself that it was just because I was glad to be single, but I know the truth. The way someone’s face falls when I make a cruel comment, no matter how true it may be. The way they stutter a slow response, their egos already curling into a fetal position and nursing it’s wounds. The way my heart speeds up when disaster is on the brink, especially such when I create it.

Even when I may regret it later, the sick truth, is that I enjoy it in that moment.

If I am not careful, I will destroy everything and everyone around me.

I will probably destroy myself.