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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
Squeaky Shoes and Vacant EyesSqueaky shoes and vacant eyes
Earbuds that hide a mind that lies
Music so loud to block out the noise
Caused by the judging girls and boys
Pale pink scars and shaking hands,
Snapping wrists with rubber bands.
Hair cut shorter, sleeves bought longer,
Hiding away so they can sit and ponder
The life they want to leave behind
But each day life will be sure to remind
Them to go outside with a smile and a lie
And to go back home and never cry.
And after all this time with every lie
They wait for the day they can say goodbye
To squeaky shoes and vacant eyes
And earbuds that shield a mind that wants to die
After-ThoughtsOne day he just kind of. . .Showed up.
He didn't have a name,
Or a reason,
Or a shape, at the time.
It was dark, so all I heard was a maturing voice coming from the shadows.
He just sauntered his way into my life
And made me so fucking angry:
Yet he was the light in my life.
Like I was a boat at sea
And he was the lighthouse;
He led me to shore and saved me from harsh waves.
I still encountered rough things-
Life can't ever spare you of them.
It's a bitch to deal with, am I right?
But he was there,
Always right there in that patch of grass lost in the woods.
Always when I needed him.
Most of the time, anyway.
He was the cause of so much turmoil
And panic attacks that had me curled up in the shower
Or under the covers
That smug little smart-ass didn't know what he did to me.
He was the cause of so much happiness
That I never had before he came along.
"Before he came along,".
Those were some damn-dark times.
I never left the house
Sometimes I like to think. . .Sometimes I like to think that no one would care if I disappeared.
Sometimes i like to think that they would hate me if I disappeared.
But I can’t; there are people here that need me. Not that they really care. But so long as they need me, I can’t leave. I'm not blessed with that privilege.
It works a little something like this: Someone that needs me will come into my life. I help them. “Fix” them, if you may. They make me feel happy. Loved. Like I actually mean something.
But as quickly as they enter my life, they’re gone. Once I’m no longer needed I’m cast aside- forgotten.
I think that’s all my existence is for. To help; and to be forgotten.
God, haven’t I suffered enough heartbreak? Of being forgotten.
I can only pray that one day I will be forgotten entirely. I will no longer be just a face in the crowd- I will no longer be just a name. I will no longer have a place in time
Section One: Self Definition and IdentityPre-Reading Question: What is the personal significance of your given name (first middle and last)? Does your name mean different things to you, your family, and your friends? What are your nicknames? What do your nicknames mean to you and those who call you those names?
1. First name: Erin. This doesn't have much personal significance other than the fact that it's the name I was given when I was born, it's the name on my baby blanket, and it's a short name that can't really be lengthened or shortened anymore than it already is. Middle name: Marie. A common middle name that also has absolutely no significance to me whatsoever. Lots of my friends share this middle name. Along with a good portion of other females.
Last name: Lunt. I've found the family crest for this when I had to make a family shield of sorts in fifth grade, but other than that, see the response to my first name.
2. My name really doesn't mean much of anything to me or the people in my life
[ i just wanted to make you something beautiful ]When someone enters your life - no matter how you end up feeling about them - they become part of you.
Whether it's their smile touching your lips
the breaths and hitches in their laugh
a melody that clambers or crawls through your mind
the beat of their hearts
the blur or clarity of their sight
the way their lips trail across your neck
the way they tell you they love you
It’s almost like a disease, a piece of their soul traveling on their breath and into your lungs. There, it becomes part of you. Even what you hate about them: how your father clears his throat after smoking a cigar or how an old friend would always quote bad movies. You can’t help but do it, too.
Because at least once in your life - whether for a moment or a lifetime - you loved them.
And love will break you down to your smallest piece and rebuild you up from there.
And you won’t realize that your sight has changed.
You won’t hear their voice on your tongue.
But it’ll always be there.
i read once that
skin replenishes itself
every twenty-seven days.
you lose your skin
waxing and waning.
and within that time,
i have touched that
skin. i have memorized
each crater and astral-burn,
and every rimulose along the
seams of your palm.
you never change-
you're many phases and faces,
but your skin is always
the same substance as
before. your structure is
wholesome. i believe that
inside you there is more than
phenomenon's and numina-
you inhabit more space,
you ellipse more than just
your hands have cradled
a myriad of things, and i've
watched you fade enough times
to tell you that man may scar you,
my inflict a cicatrix upon you while
planting their emblem into you,
that you may fade many times more,
that you may pull one-tide-too-many,
but you are more than skin and soul;
you are more than humanity, more than
dismantled's and incompletes.
more than unfathomable's and
you're more than hands.
the weight of living pt. cdlxxit's a tangle of voices in the midst of rainy 1.53am breakdown
right now i want to cut myself
it feels like an ideal solution
i know it is not
maybe i should throw out my blades
i don't know
i don't know
i do know
i don't want to
the key phrase is just in case
you don't understand
you don't care
i wish .he cared
i also wish he wasn't fucking a fourteen year old harry potter freak with nicer eyes than me
i also wish he didn't spend his lunch times locked away in the drama room with a 52 year old paedophile with marriage problems
i wish i'd never cut myself because it's all these scars that will never fade and they remind me every day of how much i fucked everything up and how much i will never be okay what am i even saying
he reminds me of a sadness i never truly covered up and never truly understood
he reminds me of the gir
Teenage Girls“I don’t know what asshole invented the idea that teenage girls are the cause for all evil, but I really hope that person never has to raise one. I don’t want him to see her dissolve in his fingers as society tells her to eat less, be thinner, be the damsel in distress, be something for a man to fix, be different but not too different, be special but never ever a special snowflake - I don’t want him to watch as she realizes that no matter what she loves, she’ll be made fun of for it. She can simply like her coffee from Starbucks and suddenly she’s vapid and thinks herself poetic. She’ll want to play video games but be called a fake nerd, particularly if she poses in any remotely flirtatious way because for some reason despite the entire community playing games with poorly dressed women they still hate it when a real girl wears less clothing, she will be seen as trespassing in a specifically male space - but when she falls in love with a female-
Today My Hands Reek of Doctor Office SoapBecause I frantically washed my hands in the back room
Because I’m one anxious little fuck when it comes to needles and
Crying children in the hallways and rooms where the walls are paper thin
Because I nearly pass out when needles are stuck into my arm several times
Because no one can ever find a goddamned vein the first time
Trying to calm myself as the doctor comes back in and the first words out of my mouth are
“So what are some good anxiety medications these days?”
The Mask Keep calm, breathe. No-one's noticed.
'Are you OK? You look worried.'
Shit. Never mind. If you're careful about it, you'll be fine.
'No, no. I'm fine. Just a bit tired, that's all.'
Was I OK? Please say she believes me.
'Alright. I was just worried about you.' And she wanders off down the corridor.
Phew. She's gone. She believed me.
The teacher is handing out worksheets. I flip mine over a few times, trying to make sense of the words on the page.
What the hell is this all about? I missed the last lesson; I've got no idea what we're doing. I can't understand Italian!
'Does everyone know what they're doing? Put your hand up if you don't.'
No. I can't put my hand up. She'll ask me what it is exactly and then I'll have to say it in front of the class and I can't do that. No. Your hand is staying down. Just please... let someone else put their hand up instead.
'No-one? You all understand?' She soun
Dear DA Admins, are you listening?Dear DA Admins…if you’re even listening to this.
Are you all some men that get aroused when seeing the naked female body? Is that why you let nude/offensive pictures slip without a mature tag, and ignore your members when we attempt to flag an image for lacking the proper warning.
Honestly, you’re allowing people to sell their naked bodies on here? Is DA now porn hub, kreigslist? Girls can just take pictures of themselves and sell them now? Pathetic that’s all I can say. I thought this was supposed to be an art website, not a porn website. And you may look and say, “It’s not that bad” but sooner or later naked girls claiming to be “nude art”, are going to take over DA then it will turn into porn and then what? Will it even still be legal, will this site be shut down as well?
DA Admins, this is really for you because I feel that you just ignore the users that seek real art. We don’t like seeing nude women on the front page sel
Nowhere Left to RunListen well and hard, Little girl.
You can't cross this road alone,
It's dangerous to run off into a crowd.
You're ignorant of this cruel world.
You had a hand to hold onto,
But you slapped it away.
Her love notes meant nothing to you.
You never did what she told you to do.
Then you wonder why you're searching,
Searching for the right answers.
She knew everything you need to know,
But you treated her like a dreg.
Listen well and hard, stupid girl.
Grown and lost in the world.
Life is just madness without her.
Always running into forks in the road.
She knew the right path,
But you denied her, now she's gone.
Now you cry, Mother, Oh Mother...
Why didn't I listen to you?
How could I have been so cruel?
And you still cry, Mother, Oh Mother...
I am so confused...
How could I have been such a fool?
And you still wonder why...
You've been down all the brick roads...
There's nowhere left to run.
Your only resort is to let it go,
Let it all go and leave it all behind.
Learn your lesson and take
Depression?People have asked me to describe depression. And don’t seem to understand the inability to put it into words. People don’t understand the thought process and the dysfunction inside someone depressed isn’t easily described. So when people ask me to describe it, I can’t quite say what I mean.
Perhaps it is like being in a pit. A dark hole with no light and no comfort. And you try everyday to climb out of it and you can never quite reach the top so you eventually give up. But that’s not entirely true. I don’t always fail at getting out but I don’t stop myself from falling in. And it isn’t a dark sad place all the time. I can be surrounded by people I love and things I love and still not be truly happy.
So then, maybe it’s like a rollercoaster. It’s a ride of ups and downs and ongoing loop-de-loops. Yet this doesn’t justify it either. I can for days without ups or downs. Days without insanity or days without relief. So how i
I Can't Lose to You.My blood rushes.
My head is light.
I can't think straight anymore,
My only thought is; Fight.
Fight your criticism.
Fight your words.
Fight your taunting.
I hate myself like this,
Where all I see is red.
It only reminds me,
How I wish I were dead.
That way, I can hurt no one.
I can not give in.
I can not lose.
I can't. . .
I can't let you win.
I want to scream,
But I don't want to lose again.
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