thick liner and pressed flowers

i feel as if i should go back to what i consider my "roots" when it comes to spilling my soul onto pages or spilling it through scattered, frantic fingertips. i've strayed too far. tried too hard to conform. that has never been my style, just inquire of my educators as i grew up. i'll be me, thanks. old pictures. forced visions. description in a way i call just. the style i so desire - the things that i love. only a new chapter. time away has altered only small pieces. insignificant to you, greatly important to me. you know, the kind of writing that reminds you of classic red lipstick, thick black liner, pressed flowers and old, dusted novels. the comfort-food lyrical words. me.