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The Stages of SpringI. Autumn's presence
Nothing but the crisp smell of
Fallen leaves and the in-and-out
Patterns of warm days laced with chill
II. Snow storms in March
Cold and ice when and where
It just shouldn't be
III. Lengthening days
And screwed up sleeping schedules
As night comes later
And an hour is lost from the day
Try not to have an early schedule that week
Because deep regret will follow with the first morning
IV. Flowers blooming and birds returning
Trees coming back to life with buds of pink
And chirps of winged beauties
Blessing the steadily-warming mornings
Warmth of the oncoming summertime
Unsure of a titleYou held my very existence within calloused fingers
And palms roughened from both playing stringed instruments
And catching yourself as you tripped over life’s speed bumps.
I wasn't broken, in the beginning.
Glued together and delicate, but not quite ruined.
You were gentle with my being and you cared
But I began to grow dark with age
My fingers grew slender from typing away my mind
And my limbs grew lined and dotted with scars
That were either intentional or accidental, I stopped keeping track at one point.
Eventually, it chased you away
And despite you staying, you weren't quite there with me
As the cracks grew more prominent and my mind grew heavy with beautiful thoughts
Of falling from your hands and crashing down into the icy dark of life’s ruthless grasp.
Of shattering upon impact and leaving everything behind.
You put me back on the shelf from which you found me,
Damaged and too close to the edge and left to collect dust.
Not that I minded; it
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More