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Forget me.If only you knew
how far we've come.
The endless black
has much to show;
for it's piercing
white globes, riddled
with the dust
of angels, speaks
a language we've
we could comprehend.
Interview With a 20-Something.This is your last chance
To p u l l some meaning from life
Better make it count.
sati(ate) and leave wanting.Yes, I can see where the irony lies.
These days, I sit and watch professionals
cook on the television;
fancy food that judges barely taste.
And it doesn't fill me with the deep disgust
that I think it may once have.
I can see it in my head;
the girls at dinner parties
ashamed of themselves and
feeling like every eye is on them
like the eye of Sauron watches over.
They excuse themselves,
Pour their heart and soul in the oval
of a porcelain bowl.
They don't feel good enough
unless they're starving.
The "hunger gnaws"
but they cover up their feelings with
I was the young child on the other side
caught in that periphery.
Small hands and
dirt stained clothes;
the utmost appreciation for life.
Years later my father would say to me,
"You don't even know half the things I fed you,
when I told you we were having venison."
That one statement,
forthright and testimonial
to the labor of our life.
The "hunger gnaws"
would come at night;
and I would see the bea
A Circumstantial Sadness.I'm a horrifying conglomerate of emotions.
I know I should hate you.
But I can't help but love your memory.
And I think Arabella is a terrible middle name. It makes me want to vomit and swallow.
I'm pissed off, mostly at myself.
I walked away, purposefully placing each step, cutting each string that tied us together. But I can't cut these heart strings. I will never have scissors sharp enough. And they're reaching up, wrapping their way around my throat. I'm choking on my depression.
If someone could take this place you left behind, I might feel a little better. But no one could come close to reaching the mark.
How can someone fill the place of blaring boy bands in a camper in the woods?
Sneaking around those old abandoned houses, making them our hideaways from things we didn't want to feel.
How can someone live up to the years we spent together?
Crying in hallways, on parking lot curbs and the middle of our living room on Houghton, spilling my heart out about the hole he left in it wh
An echo of love.i dream so often
and people that cannot take form
a hallowed feeling
has been dug out from my chest
you filled me instead
left me among the amber leaves
i hear the beating
of my soul that winds down this road
light, shimmering rainbows
and butterflies without end
will you fill me up again?
your voice, barely a vacant whisper
(when you wake and find me gone, your heart along with me)
will my heart return to me?
I listen closely, you're an echo now
(in the hours of the morning, when daylight weaves across the sky)
and will you come with it?
Only the sound of birds, greeting our burning starlight.
will you come with it?
Once More, With Feelingpetrichor
that smell of earth after the rain
the sense that brings my memories crashing
like the waves of Lake Huron
back down upon me again
it reminds me of you
and it reminds me of her
carefully we would step though the cluster of young oaks
fallen twigs and leaves that have piled
for years and years
i tried so hard to live quietly
but you were my sister of earth, not blood
an immense, rolling storm-head
menacing to those around us
a little brash, three parts bold, and mostly just stupid
i didn't think back then that things would ever change
and I so desperately longed for them to
even though the stagnation was so...
i would sit calmly for hours
and listen to the song of the trees
as the wind danced among them
a carefree child who knew nothing of my sorrow
when a man, broken down but still standing
places the weight of the world on a young girls shoulders
he is ignorant of the pain
blinded by the build-up, the symbols hissing constantly in his ears
Does it Work?The starting point blinks
On this computer screen
Full of your beautiful poetry
Tabs of social networking
Here I sit alone.
Is this truly the computer age?
Is this what I have to look forward to?
I need to know that people still want to look at my face,
See my skin and laugh at the graceless way I walk sometimes;
Not the cold, soulless captured moment that I posed for so perfectly.
I try so hard to impress you
While living one thousand miles away;
While living through the eyes of a machine.
Is it working?
Rain DanceThunder claps -
My hands stretched out before me;
Moisture clinging, like a cold glass on a hot day.
Suddenly your fingers weave into mine;
A little slip but they hold.
And we spin, spin, spin.
Small drops cover this parched earth:
Soon, the dirt coloured black.
Grass and leaves bow under its weight.
My hair sticks to my face
And you lift it away;
That smile pulling at the corners of your mouth,
The one I know means bliss.
I can see the stark green of your eyes,
Even through this haze.
We fall back
And mother nature takes us into her heart, her soul.
I can feel her with us now;
The essence filled in every drop.
Hand in hand, still weaved together,
We watch the rain fall upon us.
Mental Disorder Discrimination"You said you've got depression?
No you don't, you attention seeker.
You're just an average teenager with the perfect life
Desperately looking for sympathy."
Stop crying, you coward.
You're just a childish "scaredy-cat".
Blaming your problems on a mental disorder
That doesn't even exist."
"So you're schizophrenic?
Grow the hell up, and stop acting like a child
You're too old for imaginary friends
You callow, juvenile, little twit."
But if we're attention seekers,
Why do we try so hard to hide our feelings from the world?
Why do we isolate ourselves in our rooms,
Desperately hiding the cuts on our wrists
Trying our best to live a normal life?
And if we're simply "scaredy-cats",
Why is our fear so vividly intense?
Unlike simple fear, our anxiety will stick with us forever
A severe long-lasting feeling of powerful panic.
A feeling from which we'll never be free.
Suddenly we're childish for having a mental disorder?
Schizophrenia is not something we can control.
YouIf you’re a girl, you’re a girl.
If you’re a boy, you’re a boy.
If you’re white, you’re white.
If you’re black, you’re black.
If you’re gay, you’re gay.
If you’re bi, you’re bi.
If you’re straight, you’re straight.
If you’re religious, you’re religious.
If you’re an atheist, you’re an atheist.
If you’re mentally disabled, you’re still human.
If you’re physically disabled, you’re still human.
For everything you are:
So who are they to judge you for who you are?
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breathe into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
daydreams and monsters.she was a girl.
she ran with the moon,
chased fireflies in the bluegrass, and
watched the reflection of sunsets in rain puddles.
her name was Alice,
and she was a girl.
but to the dragonflies she was a queen,
and to the mirror she was a sister.
the moon was her prince, and the
blinking windows were the eyes
that kept her safe.
she spent her nights making wishes, and she
dragged her fingers along the shooting stars
that were tangled with her vertebrae.
her name was Alice,
and she was a girl.
her body was a river
her mind was an ocean
and her heart was the sky.
she lived in a world where
doves flew in the sea and
whales swam in the
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
Maybe.I think the wedge has been driven in too deeply.
It's so deep, it's cut our porcelain bodies in ha lf.
But I'm left with the top half, the one that thinks and feels: the heart that won't stop pounding, won't just give up and let it die.
Instead, I pretended I had the bottom half. The one with legs that w a l k e d a w a y.
But we both know that's not true. Those legs are still there, waiting for the day when all the kings horses and all the kings men...
And so we write.
The words come naturally, most of the time. But I'll admit, sometimes I shine them. I add a little sparkle for dramatic effect. Because I'm not living my life c o m p l e t e yet.
And I need to learn that that's okay.
You would have been the one to tell me if it was okay. I miss your honest opinion.
Maybe I'm the one at fault. I'm letting the perception of 'disappointment' in their eyes block my way. Maybe not. Maybe some people know best.
I'm fucking sick of may
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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