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Feelings InsideYet again you feel it within yourself,
Like a twisting pain, sharp, and
You somewhat enjoy it, the pain, for
It brings color to a dull world that you see.
Is it jealously?
Perhaps, although there is no reasonable
Thought that comes to mind as to why it
It doesn't go away, but when it does,
After much will and forcing out,
You think that you have conquered it,
And if it may ever return again,
It will be easy to rid of and ignore,
However, that never seems to be the case.
Goodbye...Such a close friend,
Goodbye, I say now,
And even though you may not read this,
I will miss you.
I will miss your one of a kind thoughts,
How you looked upon the world,
And how you so gratefully let me help
With problems in your life.
I wish you the best of luck,
Although I doubt you'll need much.
Human BeingsBreath in,
Remind yourself that you are human.
You make mistakes.
You hurt people.
You will never be perfect.
Remember everyone is human.
We'll make mistakes.
We'll hurt each other.
We'll never be perfect.
YouYou are the source of all my happiness,
The root of all my pain.
A bitter sweet love I seem to have for you,
But when I think of the things you have done,
Then back to myself,
I wonder why it had to be you...
You of all people, I fall for,
Deep and slowly, although fully aware.
I talk to you and I think my heart stops,
A joyous feeling, oh so happy indeed,
But when I remember you have somebody else,
A part of me whines, and cries and dies,
Silently as I wince from the hole forming in my heart,
A put on a smile,
And pretend its alright.
Stifled LoveYou stand in front of them,
And oh, how their eyes seem to shine
Back at you,
And you feel such an urge just to lean
Over and kiss them,
Yet, you hold back,
For they are simply taken,
And your heart cannot be
Taken from you, for they
Already grasp another.
And act like nothing is wrong,
But ever time they speak
Of their lover's name,
Your heart shrivels up,
And cries out to them.
But you keep your mouth shut,
And stifle the pain,
For you cannot be loved back,
No, not someone like that,
For you simply do not deserve your only love...
Walk AwayAnd so they say
Sometimes you just need to walk away,
And see who follows.
I did this one day,
Walked away, far away,
But sadly no one followed.
And so back home I walk,
Head hung with sorrow,
A pencil drawn smile.
Fitting InI could,
Oh trust me, I could.
So easily could I change my appearance,
Both inside and out,
So easily can I become another,
Another part of a widespread group,
Yet, I do not,
I do not speak to it,
My opinions kept silent,
My thoughts rarely expressed.
JudgingNo matter color of skin
Culture or sexual orientation,
Beliefs, religion, or even simple opinions!
Judging is wrong, you cannot
Judge people on their beliefs,
Because it is beyond wrong,
And can lead to suicides.
Can you live with blood on your hands?
You will be judged, no matter what,
For that we cannot change.
Do not stoop to their level,
For no metaphors are needed here
To prove why this is wrong.
remembering isn't enough.i'm trying to forget:
your lashes like spiderwebs brushing
against my cheek,
lily lips and peppermint breath,
falling ohsogracefully in
words like acid trickling through
mouths wide open, trickling
into my throat, drowning my lungs,
staining my insides
stars dancing from your
teasing fingertips, just out of
The NothingsThe Nothings
Once upon a time there were somethings.
Somethings where the little girl with the pigtails would come bouncing home talking to her mother about what she did at school today, how was her friend Jimmy, and oh! she almost forgot her crayons, but luckily Emily was there to remind her.
She would prattle on and on delightedly while her mother listened, her euphoria taking her higher than the moon.
She insisted on acting "grown up".
She would sit, straight and stark, and never forget to keep her elbows off the table and her napkin on her lap. She would always say "yes, ma'am," , "no, ma'am,", "thank you very, very muchly," and "excuse me!", over-enunciating the words and biting off the ends of sentences, so that to her they sounded sharp and crisp, just like her daddy talked on the phone, and she knew everyone wanted to be like daddy.
Her parents shared subtle smiles, hidden amidst floral handkerchiefs.
She became a butterfly, she said. She wanted to
edenThey are only
their fingers kissing
by the palms;
that is how long they've
"You know," she
murmurs, leaning in.
"Your heart is cold."
He stiffens, breaks
from her touch.
"I meant your hands-
your hands are cold."
She smiles, then,
and the soft breeze
of her hair.
he traces the white-lily
curve of her fist with
"I've made mistakes;
my heart has hardened
over time, but..."
There is a pleading
sort of poetry in
his words, his
anything but cold.
She is still beaming,
daylight streaming from
yet twilight is not far;
"You have to wake up, now." she says knowingly.
Melancholy is swallowing
drowning her into the
of regrets; bird bones seeping into ink-water.
"Don't leave me." his voice cracks.
The wind whisks her away,
like rose-petals in
"Let me go." she
"Teenage Love Poem"I want to hold you near me
Sift your hair between my fingers
Brush it back from your clear brown eyes
So the feel of your gaze lingers
I want to see your face light up
Like mine when you're walking by
I want so much to know you
But I'm too afraid to try.
When I see you, you're surrounded
By a gorgeous, grinning flock
The jealous eyes upon me
Take away my urge to talk
If you ever say you love me
I swear I won't resist
I'll be your silent shadow
Til you realize I exist.
Kiss From A RoseYesterday, I was walking down a crowded street until I found this girl standing on the corner with dark red hair. She told me her name was Rose and one day she wanted to be on Broadway. I told her I was a writer and had a dream of being published but my words weren't nearly pretty enough. They were nothing compared to her bright blue eyes that were striking enough to burn out all the stars in the sky. I had a tendency to fall short of breath but she knocked the wind out of me for an entirely different reason.
Later that week, we went on our first date to this small Italian restaurant where everyone had thick accents and we felt a little out of place. It didn't really matter at that point though because I was only trying to understand the strings of words she was projecting from her speaker box. I learned that she was adopted from an orphanage when she was 8 and graduated from high school when she was 16 where she finished at the top of her class. She went to a college for the performin
She was very sensitive.
As if the volume was turned up in her head.
She started using her mother’s sedatives,
As a solution for her sleepless nights in bed.
She couldn’t connect with any of her relatives,
They never showed an interest in anything she said.
Her attempts at socialising were tentative,
So she conjured up imaginary friends instead.
Her dogged detachment was her only imperative.
She could not risk the chance of being misled.
There was no one to peel back the layer of negatives.
Too many years of tears have been bred and shed.
The smile she occasionally displayed was purely decorative.
She knows people will judge her before they have even read
Her story because they’re too caught up in their own narrative.
They only take the time to read your book once you are dead.
They say we’re born alone and die alone.
As humans we are built to survive and consume.
Even if you are raised from a loving home.
You can still feel out of place in your ow
things you don't learn in schoolI found a cricket
on the roadside, put it
in a mason jar to show the world
and called it by a first name.
He died of loneliness shortly
thereafter and i learned how wretched
it is to be forsaken.
When I was twelve, I watched a boy
slit his wrists with a plastic spork
at lunch, and though I
laughed at the irony, all i kept thinking was
"I really hope he washed his hands."
He bled tears
of scarlet red that looked
just like tomato sauce, but I just stood
there because it was the coolest thing
I'd ever seen.
The boy, he smelled of dirty
laundry and cigarettes and sorrow
and used to sit by the window
until the bell, where he'd wait until everyone
had gone outside to make sure it was safe.
His eyes were the hollowed rings
of Saturn, with freckles
like stars & cosmic bruises
up and down his arms.
If he spoke, it was of distant shores and escape,
and we believed it
when he talked of things like freedom,
hearing the scratch of gravel
roads from within his throat.
I realized one day that I'd nev
miss the girlyou see her,
her bones rolling,
as she prints
of her name.
you are sitting,
it is not
into the myriad
and lips and
next see her,
speak for the
a story together.
you are staring
to slice through
and you turn,
back of your
as the months
melt into one
as the leaves
go white with
teenage desireI don't think she realizes how gorgeous she is. She has this way of tilting her head down and hiding behind her hair that says she doesn't think she's worth looking at. She also has this way of smiling up at me with her head positioned like that and her hair hanging over one eye that's unbelievably sexy. I don't know, I guess her shyness and insecurity is attractive.
She is gorgeous though, even if she doesn't know it. Her eyes are this shockingly deep blue. I could go on and on about them, but that's such a cliché. Personally, I think that the mouth is sexier than the eyes anyway. She's got a great mouth. Soft and pink, untouched by lipstick or gloss, perfectly shaped…I love it.
Right now, she's lying on my bed, falling asleep. Not quite there yet, her eyes are slightly open and I know she's watching me. She's all stretched out, her shirt pulled up slightly because she's using her arms as a make shift pillow (I don't know why she doesn't just turn around and use my pillow - she's weir
Her EyesEverything that has
Ever been so perfectly exciting in my life,
And all its sure enough flaws.
All the beauty of everything
Tangible and abstract,
And the ugly black core they posess.
Every love and hate
Song that plays is bittersweet
In the burning impression
Of the deepest recesses of
Where, of course,
Her eyes observe me,
What I was, and will become.
Her eyes, buried deep in me,
They whisper softly,
Harsh words of rememberance,
"What if", or "Why didn't you..."
But, perhaps I desrve it,
I let her go,
I let that final glance occur,
I let her eyes stay with
Me, for they said everything
Neither her nor I could ever
Dare to say.
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More